Resistance
by theRottenLord
Summary: During the first war, in 1986 Voldemort gained victory and rules over Great Britain. The opposition has formed the Resistance Party and fights the Dark. No horcruxes, no prophecy, the Potters were never attacked. Nobody knows Harry Potter - until he is made a spy and gets involved into a dangerous game LM/HP, full summary inside
1. Chapter I

_Disclaimer_: _nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Summary_: _In the course of the first war, in 1986 Voldemort gained victory and established his regime all over Great Britain. Magical world is secluded from muggles and is being ruled by the Dark Lord and his generals - ex-Death Eaters. All muggleborns were branded as political criminals and lost most of their rights. Muggleborn children are still accepted to study at Hogwarts, however, in 1997 a law was promulgated, that prohibited any wizards and witches to have a muggle parent, and all the non-magical relatives were to be executed in order to keep the magical Britain safe from muggles. The opposition has formed their own Resistance Party and keeps constantly fighting the Dark Lord and his new government. There are no horcruxes in this story, no prophecy, the Potter family was never attacked. Harry grew up with his parents, went to Hogwarts, where he met his two best friends Ron and Hermione, graduated seven years later and found a job at the Dagon Alley. Nobody knows Harry Potter - he is an ordinary half-blood wizard, living an ordinary life. Or at least he used to think so, until he found himself involved into an intricate and dangerous game. LM/HP for now._

_Warning_: _non canonical, AU, M/M slash, explicit language, violence, abuse, M rating for a reason._

**Resistance.**

**Chapter I. **

**Rain.**

_"The path of least resistance is the path of the loser." H. G. Wells_

The world kept turning. As the water that always flows, the fire that burns, the time that keeps running - life passed by and he could only stare helplessly after it and wonder what had he done wrong. At some point in time, perhaps, he really should have thought twice about what was he going to do, but he never did, trusting somebody else's opinion. _As always_. It was a bitter realization he was forced to take in: he was incapable of making his own decisions, too inexperienced, too young, dependent, childish, irresponsible. He used to tell himself, _convince_ would be the right word, that it wasn't his fault he ended up like this - it was the world, the life, the others' actions that had affected him so. However, and it was truly pointless to lie to his own self anymore, he knew he couldn't blame politics and government for his inconsistency and uncertainty. He was failing constantly not because his parents had put him into this position, but because he himself had never tried to change it, to find something else, to escape the destiny he loathed so much now.

Sighing forlornly, Harry blew out the bluish smoke and threw the almost finished cigarette on the ground. Its last sparkle gleamed dimly in the darkness below and died, leaving Harry in the thick gloom of a cold early spring's night. He shivered and wrapped his coat tighter around himself, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose with a trembling hand. Of course he could have whispered a warming spell, but the truth was he didn't really want to use magic when it wasn't necessary. What was the point? He wasn't going to die here.

"Harry, how long are you going to sit up there? Get down from the roof now! You will freeze yourself to death!" His mother's voice dissipated into nothingness, as she went back into the house, loudly banging the door closed behind her. She wasn't in her best mood today. Just like yesterday and the day before that, and the last week... Funny, Harry thought he had forgotten when was the last time his mother was happy. Was she ever happy at all? What did she look like when she was content, satisfied? He couldn't remember her smile.

Letting out yet another heavy sigh, Harry carefully climbed down the sewer and stepped onto the wet ground, that was soft and slippery like butter. It had been raining for days, worsening the atmosphere in the house, in their family. Involuntarily hunching his shoulders, as if he was going to be slapped on his back, Harry entered the dark hall and threw off his dump trainers and coat. He could hear clatter of dishes in the kitchen, loud shooting and screaming on the telly from the living room, soft tapping of the backdoor left open - the usual, familiar sounds that nourished the illusion of peace and harmony in the Potter household.

"Mom, I'm not hungry, I won't be dinning tonight," he told Lily's back, that was bent over the sink. His mother wasn't old, had just turned thirty eight last month, but her appearance never matched her age. Thin, even skinny, Lily was so small and weak, Harry often feared the wind would blow her off of her feet. Her once shinning red hair turned dull brown and lay lank on her shoulders. Even her skin became unhealthy pale and the deep dark circles under her eyes made his mother look sick, terminally ill. Watching her back and arms, moving constantly as some kind of a muggle robotic mechanism, Harry couldn't help but wince at the sight, pitying her.

"Fine." Was all she said, not turning back to look at him. Did she know he smoked? Did she care? He stood there at the threshold, waiting for her to say something else, anything at all, but she never did. Twisting his lips in ire and sorrow, that have been prevailing in his mood lately, Harry walked away, rubbing on his neck uncomfortably. The older he got, the more unbearable Lily became towards him, as if she was consciously pushing him away. Why? He had no idea. He had never done anything wrong, not to his mother anyway.

His father was asleep, slumped in his favourite armchair, that got worn and discolored with years. The bright light from the screen flashed over his face, turning it into a waxen mask of a deadman. James' glasses slid down to the tip of his nose and lay askew, as he bent his head at an awkward angle. He had been falling asleep more often lately, working too hard, too much, with no positive feedback. Deep lines crossed his forehead above the brow that was always creased, for he was constantly tensed, unnerved. Harry didn't want to disturb his sleep and quietly passed by and ascended the creaky stairs, habitually avoiding the steps that produced most of the noise.

Just another boring weekend at home. And what had he been expecting, really? He was too old to enjoy spending time with his parents, who barely talked to each other. _Eighteen_, he was already eighteen - to think that time was running so fast! A year had passed since he graduated from Hogwarts, but for Harry it felt like a lifetime, it felt as if his seven years at the school were somebody else's, or he spent them on another planet, in another universe. _Far away from here._ Smiling ruefully, Harry picked up a letter from Hermione that her owl brought earlier. After graduation she left the country, went traveling around the world and extending her already vast knowledge of both life and magic. He envied her sometimes, but always hated himself for that, for he knew Hermione had to live like this, for the sake of her parents. Harry often thought that Lily should have made the very same choice years ago, before his birth, before she married James Potter. But she chose to stay and now she was unhappy, miserable. Hermione, who had always been rational and never put emotions and her heart's desires above her sense, chose freedom and safety of her family over love and life with Ron.

"It would have hardly been a life anyway," Ron told him after they had seen her off at the airport almost a year ago. "Look at your mom, she can't work, she can't practice magic for pleasure, she can't do anything except having children with her pureblood husband. I can't imagine Hermione living like that, she would have died... No, she is better off without me, us, this wretched place." Tears ran down his freckled cheeks, as they slowly walked down the streets of London, having have apparated from Heathrow straight to the Piccadilly. Harry had never seen his friend cry before and this unwanted experience hurt him greatly. He didn't know where Ron was now, they rarely communicated, exchanging simple, empty letters. Sometimes Harry thought that Hermione was the only reason they had ever become friends at all, they didn't share much in common, he could honestly admit this to himself.

Sitting down at his desk, he read the three pages filled with small, accurate handwriting one more time and pulled a blank parchment out of the drawer to write an answer. In her every letter Hermione wrote about the many places she was visiting, about different magical towns and cultures, schools and traditions she had discovered - she knew very well how much Harry wished to travel and how hungry he was for information, news, something else that had nothing to do with Britain and british magical government. Like a thirsty traveler in the desert, Harry was frantically looking for water, but there was only sand around him and Hermione's letters were his rescuing mirage. Taking a deep breath, he put the tip of his quill against the paper and froze in uncertainty. What was he going to tell her about this time? His answers got short and taciturn with time, for there was nothing new in his life, and the news of what was going on here could have been easily accessed anywhere else in the world. There was nothing to tell her. Since their last correspondence absolutely nothing had happened. _Absolutely nothing_.

Staring dumbly into the darkness outside the window, Harry once again thought back on his mother and the way her life had turned out. What had she been dreaming of when she was eighteen? Could Lily imagine her life would be _this_? This lonesome existence and a mark on her shoulder, as if she was a thief or a murderer - like one of those wizards who now were their government, their leaders, their gods and demons. He couldn't believe she loved James so much, that she couldn't leave him for her own sake - as a pureblood wizard from an ancient family his father never bothered anyone and if he hadn't married a muggleborn, he could have even gotten a high position at the Ministry. But they stayed together instead, and now he was an ordinary Auror, a mere policeman of a wizarding world, and she couldn't even leave her house except for the necessary medical check outs at St Mungo's. His mother had no right to work, to shop, to teach or study further, she had no right to walk in the streets before or after the particularly set hours. Was this the life Lily dreamed of when she had discovered she was a witch? Harry sincerely doubted that.

"_Dear Hermione_," he began, "_How I wish I could have run away with you_."

Harry stopped, frowning at the wryly scribbled words. Could he really tell Hermione all of his troubles in a letter? He felt self-conscious to burden her with what she had no interest in. Would she have told him if her mother turned into a depressive, bitter woman, that lost all her light and seemed lifeless, like a broken doll? Perhaps, Lily was already _dead_? Shaking his head vehemently, Harry berated himself for even daring to think of her like that - he never wished to see her dead, never! But at the same time he couldn't help but wonder if there was any love left in her. The way she treated him - as if he was an empty spot - suggested that she could barely stand him. Did she blame him for her misfortune? If she did, then what was his fault exactly except for the fact that he was born? Harry knew he was, probably, overreacting, but Lily's sadness and misery disturbed and upset him. He had this nagging feeling, that caused the unpleasant itching under his skin, that there was something he could do to help her, but he was too stupid to find out what exactly.

He heard the old clock strike midnight downstairs. Had he really spent so much time musing over a letter? Harry crumpled the parchment and banished it with a flick of his fingers. He rarely used his wand, preferring wandless magic he never knew he was capable of. At the school they were taught that only powerful wizards and witches of pure blood could have this ability. Having discovered his rare talent Harry decided to keep it a secret even from his parents, practicing every night in the darkness and safety of his bedroom. He hadn't gone very far, but he was certain it was simply a matter of time and persistence. Yawning and stretching his back, Harry took off his clothes and crawled under the covers on the bed, coiling around one of his old, puffy pillows. Placing the glasses on the bedside table next to his holly wand, he groaned at the thought of how early he had to get up tomorrow. He hated Mondays. They delivered new books at Flourish & Blotts on Mondays and it was his job to come two hours earlier and sort them out, mark their cost and put them on their rightful places on the shelves.

**xxx**

Harry sat at the counter, lazily paging through the _Advanced Defense Against Dark Arts_, bored and awfully tired, sleepy. Shop assistant wasn't his dream job, but he didn't want to become an Auror either - they had enough of those in the family. Here, at least, he had an opportunity to read any book he wished to for free. What was he going to do next, after this place bored him to death, he hadn't yet decided, however, he was certain he wasn't going to be a salesman ever again. Mondays were truly the worst days, for there were few customers and lots of work with delivery, and Harry could swear it was once cursed by Merlin or Morgana - everything went wrong on this day. He had already accidentally hit his head on the shelf twice today, there was one torn book in the package, which, fortunately was new, and he was able to restore it to its original condition. It was already noon and there hadn't been a customer yet. Sighing in resignation, Harry tried to concentrate on the text before him. An Auror or an assistant - he wasn't going to let himself degrade and loose his skill. Not that he was a fighter, but one thing his father taught him well was that he was ought to be capable of protecting his family and friends, should such necessity transpire. After his friends left, there were only his parents left to care for.

"Potter." And Harry naively hoped he would never have to hear this voice again. Slowly raising his eyes, he looked up at the tall dark form before the counter. Mondays, the damned Mondays!

"Headmaster Snape," he greeted quietly, praying that the old bat would leave without causing him any more troubles. Seven years at Hogwarts was quite enough. "How may I help you?"

"I have heard you never applied for the Auror program, although you had an _acceptable_ reference and NEWTs. I could never imagine that the son of James Potter would fall so _low_," Severus Snape raised an imperious eyebrow, giving his surroundings a mocking, pitiful look. "You _surprised_ me, Potter," he added snidely, "Should have done so during your stay at Hogwarts."

"A pleasure to see you too, sir," Harry bowed his head respectfully, avoiding to look into the bottomless onyx eyes, that watched him hatefully.

"Where is the owner?" Snape wrinkled his long, crooked nose in disgust.

"He is not here today, sir."

"What?! That old hag dragged me here and dared to not show up?!" Harry involuntarily winced, hearing the painfully familiar hiss, full of rage and venom. Now he was going to get a handful for Mr Stone's mistake - what a perfect way to start the day.

"I am sorry, sir, he never said you were to come here. Is there anything else I can help you with?" It wasn't that hard to stay calm and respectful towards Snape. Ever since he had become a headmaster - in Harry's first year - everybody tiptoed around him and no one dared to even look at him in a wrong fashion. The price for such arrogance was very high, for the snarky man was one of Voldemort's closest followers, one of his generals. Apart from his position at the school Snape was the Head of the Department of Education at the Ministry of Magic and his visit to the book shop was truly surprising, for the man of his rank couldn't afford himself to spend time on such nonsense as shopping.

"No," Snape barked, narrowing his eyes at the young wizard in front of him. "Tell him that if he ever contacts me again he will find himself in one of Azkaban's cell!" And in a whirl of black robes he vanished into the thin air before Harry had managed to reply. Rolling his eyes and inwardly cursing his luck for meeting Snape here, of all places, he stretched out his hand and summoned a cup of calming herbal tea from the back room, while nobody could see him perform such a fit. Sighing and scratching his neck, Harry once again immersed himself in the book. It wasn't that bad, he thought absentmindedly, if anything, Snape was very _civil_ today. Perhaps, he stopped seeing only James Potter in him or he simply stopped treating him as a dunderhead? Harry hoped for both. Being Severus Snape's enemy was one of the worst things in their dark times and his father, unfortunately, had managed to get on the black list.

When Harry closed the shop it was already dark outside - he could see the first stars in the sky, as they blinked sleepily at him, only waking up it seemed. Smiling sadly at the memories of the old fairy tales his mother used to read him before bed many, many years ago, he slowly walked to the apparition point, day-dreaming of traveling in time and space. He knew he was too much of a romantic idiot, filling his head with such rubbish, but he honestly didn't feel like an eighteen year old adult. He dearly wished he could go back and be the little, carefree Harry again, too young to understand what was going on and why was his mother crying. Shivering under a particularly sharp blow of the cold northern wind he hastened his pace, instantly forgetting about the stars and cursing the awful weather.

"Harry! Haven't seen you in ages, pup!" Upon entering his house in Godric's Hollow Harry found himself squeezed in a bear hug of his godfather. As a wealthy pureblood and a dark wizard Sirius Black held a higher position at the Department of Law Enforcement and often went away for long periods of time, traveling all over the country and monitoring the work of different smaller divisions. "My, but you've grown!" Sirius held him by the shoulders, giving him an accessing look. The man has aged, _dramatically_, Harry thought, taking in the deepened wrinkles and hollow cheeks, tired grey eyes, temples stricken with white.

"Great to see you, Sirius, I've missed you," he smiled modestly, trying to arrange his hair back in the order after Sirius ruffled it playfully.

"Prongs, you never told me how much Harry have grown! Look at him! He's like a boy from a magazine! He took after Lily, thank Merlin for that!" Sirius laughed, throwing his arm over his friend's shoulders and steering him into the kitchen, where Harry saw the table had been already set.

"Padfoot, please, I was just as lovely at eighteen!" James pushed his dark hair back and wriggled his eyebrows haughtily. It was a wonder how much younger the two Aurors looked when they were together. It felt like they could let themselves be children again in the company of each other. Harry smiled at them, glad to see that at least they were not loosing their hearts. He sat down next to his godfather and prepared to listen to the endless chatter about the glorious past of the Marauders. However, conversation was strained, for Sirius kept staring at him for some unknown reason and kept sending James strange, pointed looks, but his father carefully ignored them.

"You're already eighteen, Harry, are you not?" his godfather suddenly asked and Harry jerked at the sound of Lily's fork grit harshly against the plate.

"Yeah, I am. Why?" he stole brief glances at his parents, who both looked concerned, especially his mother.

Twisting his napkin in his hands, James leaned closer to Sirius, "Listen, Padfoot, I don't think we should drag Harry into this, it is not-"

"Come on, James! Are you going to tell me it is not _his_ war?" the other man interrupted him, throwing his arms in the air.

"What are you talking about?" Harry looked between the two helplessly, having no idea what was going on and just where did his godfather want to drag him to.

"No!" Lily suddenly sprang on her feet, hovering over Sirius, who had enough sense to look frightened. "_No!_" she repeated furiously, "Don't you two dare to get Harry involved into this! As if it is not enough for me to wait for the news of James' death every day! He is still a child, let him live while he can!"

He couldn't remember when was the last time he saw his mother so angry, so fierce. Her green eyes blazed with fire and he could have sworn he saw the steam coming out of her ears. "Mom? What's the matter?" he tried weakly but cowered under her warning glare and shut up.

"Lily," Sirius raised his hands in a placating gesture, "I understand, I understand better than anyone - he is my godson after all. But Harry is not a child anymore, no matter how much you wish him to be. He is almost a man, he needs to act like a man as well."

"And you?" Lily attacked her husband, not even sparing the dark wizard another glance, "Why won't _you_ say something? Hm? Or maybe you agree with him? You don't care for your son's life, future, but you care for your _games_?" she hissed snidely, with such malice behind her words, Harry couldn't help but stare at her, not recognizing his mother in this suddenly scary witch, distorted with hatred.

"We don't play games, Lily!" James also stood up, affronted. "I agree, Harry is not a child anymore, but I also agree it is not the time for him to join us!"

"Not the time? Not the time?" Lily shrieked, "So you are planning to get him killed later, in a few years? Tell me when, I will order a coffin in advance!"

"Do you even hear yourself? The Hell are you talking about?" James raised his voice, bringing his fist down on the table.

Seeing that his parents got into yet another fight and were not going to explain the reason behind it, Harry quietly stood up, put his dishes away and went outside to climb onto the roof. He found he liked sitting there, even when it was cold and raining. It was quiet and peaceful there and the moon seemed so big and the stars so bright, he could have spent his every night on this spot, if only he didn't need to go to work. Harry took out a cigarette and lit it up with a power of his will. Inhaling deeply, he held the smoke inside for some time and let it out slowly, with a twisted kind of pleasure. Smoking was harming him just like any other muggle - wizard or not, he wasn't immortal and invincible, but he still enjoyed it. It soothed his nerves and turned his head a little, just enough to help him relax but stay sober.

"What are you smoking? Winston?" He jerked at the sound of Sirius' voice over his ear, but his godfather's strong hands held him in his place. "I'm not going to tell them," Sirius barked out a laugh, "Besides, even if I told them now they wouldn't remember it after they are finished with each other." He held out his open palm, waiting for Harry to share his pack.

"What is this fight about anyway?" Harry asked, when his godfather sat down next to him and lightened up his cigarette.

Keeping silent for a moment, Sirius once again gave him that strange look, as if he was considering Harry's abilities and usefulness. "Your father and I are members of the Resistance Party and we... well, _I_ wish for you to join us."

"_The_ Resistance?" Harry breathed out, shocked. Everybody knew about them, but nobody knew who they actually were. Rumors said the party was founded by the former members of the Order of the Phoenix after Albus Dumbledore had to leave the country and move his political activities elsewhere in Europe. "But... but you are both Aurors! You serve the Dark Lord and his government, don't you?"

"You are truly very naive," Sirius grimaced, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Of course we work at the Ministry, we serve Voldemort, but we also wish to finish his reign and get back to how we were before. We want a better life than _this_," he smiled bitterly, as the smoke slowly crawled out of his nostrils and down his chin and neck.

"But mom says she waits for the news of dad's death every day... What does she mean? What do you do?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was one thing to secretly admire the brave soldiers of Resistance from afar, the fearless defenders of the Free Wizards of Britain, who constantly fought the Dark Army all over the country, but it was a completely different matter altogether to know that your father was one of them.

"We rarely duel them, Harry, don't take Lily's words to heart," Sirius growled, irritated. "What we do is _diversion_. We spy, collect information, put together dossiers on every Voldemort's follower, send it abroad to Dumbledore and his alliance and wait for the perfect moment to strike from within. Open confrontation and fighting isn't efficient, as you can see for yourself."

"So you want me to... what, to help you spy? But how can I... I've never..." Harry stammered, astonished and scared. His heart beat maddeningly against his ribcage, demanding action, excitement of the shadowing, of danger, but his mind was rationally trying to sober him up, helpfully offering images of the cruelly tortured and executed traitors, whose bodies were usually put on display at the Diagon Alley and at the Ministry to teach the others to behave themselves. He hissed suddenly in pain, as the forgotten cigarette burned out in his hand and a hot ash fell on his fingers.

"Now, now, Harry, I never said anything about making you a spy. I simply wish for you to help us out any way you can. You work at the book shop - we could safely pass our delivery and mail through you, for example. Books as a way of communicating is a perfect disguise and nobody would ever suspect you - a mere shop assistant," Sirius said nonchalantly, pointing his wand at Harry's hand and healing it.

"I see." He took a calming breath and tried to be sensible about this. On one hand he wanted to participate, to feel the adrenaline, to be useful to those who never gave up their fight against the Dark Lord, but on the other... it wasn't in his nature, he was too soft, kind, too weak for that sort of work. And he wasn't going to deny it - he was scared, even if Sirius was assuring him of his safety. He felt it in his gut - it all wasn't as easy and simple and his godfather was making it up.

"Listen, pup, I know it's a lot to take in," Sirius looked him straight in the eyes, "Tomorrow we are having a small meeting with some of the members, you could come and listen to what they all have to say and see for yourself if you are ready to join or not. What do you say, hmm?"

"Sounds like a plan," Harry nodded, strangely distant, as if his lips were moving on their own accord.

Sirius smiled brightly, as his eyes shone with pleasure and mischief, "Tomorrow at eight, at Rover's bar in muggle London. It's not far from Diagon, you will easily find it. You won't have any problem going out, won't you?" he teased.

"No," Harry smiled back nervously, "Of course I won't." Going out into muggle world wasn't strictly prohibited, but a wizard had to have a special license for that, which was the guarantee that he wasn't going to perform any kind of magic or communicate with any muggles. Harry had it, though rarely used it, for muggles were just as boring as wizards and had all the same problems, if not more.

"Great. I'm waiting for you tomorrow," Sirius got up, patting him on the head affectionately. "I shouldn't remind you not to tell your mom, though, right?" he laughed and jumped down on the ground and got back inside the house.

Harry stared at the newborn moon, suddenly aware of what he had done. He was going to come to a secret meeting of traitors! Of course, in his opinion they were _heroes_, but this wasn't going to save his life, should he get captured and interrogated. Something was telling him, a premonition of sorts, that he wasn't going to walk away a fee man tomorrow - if he did come to meet them, they would grab hold of him and use him as they see fit. What was he getting himself into? The first heavy drops of rain snapped Harry out of his stupor and he hastily climbed down. Passing by the kitchen he saw that Lily and James had calmed down and were drinking tea with Sirius, but the tension in the air hasn't escaped his senses and he didn't stop, thinking that they all were better off without him right now, as was he without them. Lying in his bed, sleepless and apprehensive, Harry thought of tomorrow's evening. He was too curious and excited to miss an opportunity to meet the real Resistance, to listen to the great men. Perhaps, even if they did take him in, they would find him useless or would give him rare, elementary tasks? Being a self-conscious and modest man that he was, Harry, however, was also honest and he had learned to accept the fact that he was a _coward_. But coward or not, he wanted to help his father and godfather, to help their cause. It was worth the risk, wasn't it?

**xxx**

Frozen, Harry looked around, watching the familiar faces of his housemates from Hogwarts, all seated around one huge round table as King Arthur's knights. Dean Tomas, Katie Bell, the Creevey brothers, Angelina Johnson, Seamus Finnigan, Oliver Wood. Harry wasn't surprised to see George and Fred Weasley present, for it would have been truly unnatural for them not to join the Resistance, but what shocked him was the presence of Neville and Ron. He could have never expected such courage and ambition from the former and he surely had never thought that the latter would be at all interested in politics.

"Well, I don't suppose I need to introduce Harry here, you are all gryffindors, and this is a kind of a family reunion," Sirius rubbed his hands together excitedly, smiling brilliantly at the young people, who were watching him with adoration. Harry could see pride battling fear in James' eyes and looked away, afraid his father's uncertainty would deprive him of the last bits of his dignity and he would run away to never ever come back and even think of plotting against the Dark Lord again. "Now, Harry is here to get the taste of what we do, so let's start with our usual reports."

Sitting across from Ron, Harry couldn't help but stare at his friend - the redheaded wizard had grown even taller and bigger, playing professional quidditch. His face looked more mature, rough, he was burdened with something, for his usually bright blue eyes were pale, withered, though determined. Stealing glances at others, Harry wondered what kind of Resistance it was, where all members were barely adults, teenagers with licenses for apparating and free use of magic, nothing more. How could these people, gryffindors, whom he thought he knew very well, spy, deceive, diverse and plot to bring down the government? He glanced at his father, but James looked absolutely serious and had this confident air around him, as he listened to Angelina's report - no, this wasn't a joke. They all were really involved. It all wasn't a _game_.

"You see, Harry," Sirius explained, after two more people spoke, "Everybody here works closely with one of the Voldemort's followers. We simply gather information, learn their timetable and contacts, make them trust us, so that lately they could share some important information. Ron, for example, plays for the same national team as Crabb and Goyle, whose fathers used to be in Voldemort's Inner Circle and are still his bodyguards. Neville works at St Mungo's and has access to all the health records of every Death Eater. Nothing dangerous, we simply communicate with them, that's all."

"By the way, have any of those orangutans seen the Dark Lord? They say nobody has seen him since 1993, there were even rumors that he died or that he had gone too far in the Dark Arts and turned into some kind of an ugly monster?" Katie Bell asked Ron and everybody turned to look at him, curious as well.

"I don't know if they saw him, but judging by what they are telling of their fathers' work - the bastard is very much alive," Ron gritted through his clenched teeth, wrinkling his freckled nose disdainfully at the mere thought of Voldemort.

"It would have been impossible to miss his death, for a new war would begin between his generals for the throne of the Dark Lord of the Magical Britain," James said, smiling bitterly at the young wizards and witches around him.

"Harry, you must join us, mate," Ron said firmly, looking at him expectantly. "It is the future of our world, of the growing generation. If we all unite against the Dark regime, we will win our lives, peace back!"

_Beautiful words - vague sense_, Harry thought, frowning at the suddenly stuffy air around him. "I don't know what could I do, really," he gave them all a small, shy smile, propping his glasses up to sit on the bridge of his nose.

"Well, first, you could get rid of the glasses," Sirius drawled thoughtfully, tapping on his chin.

"Get rid of my...? What for?" Harry raised his eyebrows, confused.

"Yeah, and grow out your hair, this unruly mop would never obey any brush, I remember how it was back at the school," Angelina piped in cheerfully.

"What for?" he turned to his father, but James averted his eyes, blushing slightly. "Would somebody please tell me what is going on?" Harry rose from his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at Sirius.

"There is an open position at Lucius Malfoy's office, he is looking for a new personal assistant," his godfather elaborated, fidgeting on his chair excitedly, "You are _perfect_ for this job, Harry! You just need to look more slick, you know, like a high-class pureblood. It is a rare chance we cannot miss - Malfoy is Voldemort's right hand, the opportunity to spy on him is _priceless_! But he has turned away all of our candidates so far and you are our last hope."

Blinking dumbly at the man, Harry could only open and close his mouth is shock. This wasn't some mundane delivery job, this was literally staying in the enemy's camp. "But, but... A personal assistant? I am not some teacher's pet or an A-student, I am not Draco Malfoy - this is what he's looking for! How can I..." he fell back in his chair helplessly, staring at the cracks on the table's surface. This was _insane_.

"On the contrary - you are nothing like his scion, whom, as I've heard, he had sent away for a time being. You would be someone new and refreshing, Harry. You are intelligent, hard-working, a talented wizard and a good-looking lad - he will take the bait." His father's voice sounded hollow and Harry couldn't believe he was actually telling him _this_. Telling him, that Lucius Malfoy was going to like him and that was why he, his own father, was ready to sell him right into the enemy's arms.

"Are you out of your mind, dad?" was all he could say to this.

"Harry," James sharply turned to face him and grabbed his hands, squeezing them painfully, "We _need_ you. He has turned away everyone we tried, no matter what kind of stories we made up for them. You would only need to bring us copies of the documents he lets you see and his contacts and meetings, that is all. Please, son, this is a golden opportunity for us, for our cause!" Harry saw the tears in his father's pleading eyes and felt his heart break at the sight of them. "Believe me when I say I _hate_ it as much as you do, but there is no other way. Harry, please, help us. If only I could, I would have taken your place, but he checks everyone for polyjuice and charms all the time, it is simply impossible to trick him with magic."

"What about mom?" He had already realized he surrendered. How could he leave his father, when the man was begging him to help? Besides, he wasn't that sure that Malfoy would take him - if he didn't, then Harry wouldn't loose anything.

"I will talk to her... Explain everything, after we succeed in putting you inside," James sighed heavily, rubbing on his sweaty forehead.

"Harry, don't take us wrong," Neville said quietly, "But you really are perfect for this. Only somebody as honest and kind as you are can do it - he would never suspect you."

Hearing Neville Longbottom of all people say something like this made Harry's stomach churn. He was once again experiencing this annoying sensation of being trapped. "When do you want me to... to go?" he asked shakily, pressing his sweating palms against the rough fabric of his jeans. It felt as if his brain was set on fire, so hard his head ached right now. How could have he agreed to this so easily? Looking his housemates in the eyes, Harry tried to imagine what were they thinking now, did they see this as a sacrifice or was it an ordinary routine in their double lives?

"Tomorrow at four o'clock is yet another interview at his office," Sirius smiled at him encouragingly. "Katie and Angelina would take you to the ophthalmologist, to the hairdresser and to Madame Malkin's to buy you a proper suit and robe. You must look spotless, he is keen on his own appearance and the image he had created of himself. Since you are to accompany him everywhere, you must look _accordingly_."

"What of my job at the shop?"

"I will send a letter out of our office, Stone wouldn't dare to have any kind of grievance against you and the Auror Division," Sirius winked conspiratorially and patted him on the back. "Besides, when Malfoy takes you, you won't need this mundane job anymore. Don't worry, Harry, everything is going to be fine!"

"Alright," Harry closed his eyes resentfully and hunched his shoulders, knowing very well that he had signed his death wish. "I hope you understand I am doing this only for you two," he croaked to the two men, when they got to the Godric's Hollow. "Otherwise I would have never agreed to this insanity."

"I _understand_, Harry," James embraced him, for the first time in years, Harry thought bitterly, "Thank you, son, thank you very much. You can't even imagine what kind of help you are providing us with."

"This is for the greater good, Harry," Sirius smiled, lighting up a cigarette. Frowning, Harry wished them good night and went to bed, listening to his father's loud excuses before Lily for their late return. He couldn't help but wonder where had he heard this phrase before. _For the greater good_. Overwhelmed with the sickening fear of tomorrow's crucible he was going to withstand Harry fell into a heavy slumber.

**xxx**

"Why, why is finding a new assistant is such a headache?!"

Harry jerked at the sudden sound of a high, whimsical voice and hastily stepped away from the mirror, in front of which he had spent the last thirty minutes. Katie and Angelina had turned him into a completely different person earlier today - he couldn't recognize his reflection. It was hard to imagine that his hair and glasses had changed him so much. With longer hair, framing his face in soft, black waves, and with his big, green eyes wide open and clearly visible on his pale round face, Harry found he looked a complete opposite of _manly_, even though he had a lean, absolutely boyish body. Tugging on the tight collar of the layered shirt and robe, he couldn't help but stare at himself in wondrous amusement. Was this what Sirius had been looking at so intently recently? His mother's face, hidden underneath his father's mop of unruly, sticking out hair?

As he moved sharply away and to the sink, pretending he was washing his hands in the lavatory and not posing in front of the mirror, Harry hadn't noticed who was standing next to him at first. However, the leisurely drawled question made him look up and stare at the reflection of a tall, fair haired wizard in bluish grey robe. "And who are you, young man?"

"Mr Malfoy, s-sir," Harry turned to face him, wishing the earth could swallow him up, "I was waiting for an interview with you, regarding the p-position of your personal assistant." He looked him straight in the pale grey eyes, inwardly trying to calm himself down. "My name is Harold James Potter, sir," he bowed respectfully, lowering his gaze at the man's shiny blue shoes.

"_Potter?_" Lucius Malfoy stretched his lips in a small, cunning smile, thoughtfully tapping on his thin lips with a long, manicured index finger. "A half-blood. What a shame your ancient, flawless bloodline was spoiled so horribly," he sighed theatrically, watching carefully the young wizard's reaction, but got only an affirmative nod in response.

"Yes, sir." An interview at the Ministry's toilet - Harry wondered if this was Monday yet again.

"And why, pray tell me, would a son of a branded muggleborn witch seek a job at my office?" Lucius felt intrigued for the first time in two weeks of the constant search for an assistant. So far most of them were complete idiots, purebloods they were or not, he had no use for a brainless monkey. Potter, however, seemed to be cognizant and looked well dressed. When the boy straightened and looked up once again, Lucius couldn't help but stare at his lovely, innocent face. Beauty and brain - such a rare combination for a modern youth.

"I know my parentage would never let me get a high ranking position in the society, sir," Harry hid his hands behind his back to twist his fingers nervously, "But I would like to have a good, noble job. To work for such an intelligent and talented man as you are would be a great reward and pride in itself." He couldn't fathom where had all these words come to him from, probably from the many muggle novels he had read at home.

He is hiding a glib tongue in that sweet mouth of his, Lucius thought, watching the green eyed boy curiously. What a ridiculous luck it was to meet a good candidate in the lavatory. "Mr Potter, please, follow me. Let's continue our interview at my office," he brushed past the young wizard, tilting his head a little to inhale his scent - fresh and gentle, like a dewed grass in the early morning. Harold James Potter was hastily gaining points.

The room they entered looked more like a tea parlour than the working space of the Senior Undersecretary. Decorated in soft blue and grey hues, it was filled with carved furniture of wight wood, thick woolen carpets and small landscape paintings in bronze frames. And this was the pace where the orders to execute and murder were being given. Raising his eyebrows in wonder and disdain, Harry modestly lowered himself on the edge of the offered chair and folded his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes trained on his freshly polished fingernails.

Lucius watched him with great interest and pleasure, enjoying the attractive face. Here, in the natural daylight from the magical window, he could take a closer, more thorough look at his candidate. Big, mesmerizing green eyes, hidden under the thick but elegant black eyebrows; small, accurate nose, almost straight, with a lovely mole on its bridge; delicately sculpted red lips, quivering ever so slightly, giving out a man of a good sense of humor, pleasant, outgoing nature; wavy, unruly black hair, barely reaching down the smoothly curved, feminine jaw line. Harry Potter was a tempting, alluring boy. Having an assistant like him would be most satisfying, he would perfectly contrast with his appearance, showing it to the best advantage. The young wizard's voice was also pleasant, soft and quiet - a guarantee that Lucius wouldn't suffer from a migraine anymore.

"Mr Potter, my son, Draco, was in the same year with you," Lucius drawled, looking through Harry's file with his diploma and reference. The boy was unexpectedly talented in Defense and Curses, Spell crafting. If _Snape_ wrote this as his characteristic, it meant that the boy was more than simply an A-student. "He always told me about every other student who had excelled in one subject or another. I have heard of you only once, in regards of quidditch, which doesn't interest me in the least. How come he had never mentioned your most laudable achievements in such complex subjects as Defense, Curses and Spell craft?"

"I always preferred to stay out of everybody's sight, sir. Due to my parentage and due to my natural disinterest in popularity," Harry gave the man a shy smile and ducked his head, trying to not give himself out.

Marveling the boy's shyness and wonderful smile, Lucius hummed and closed the file, having had already made a decision. "Mr Potter, tell me, what do you think of Resistance?"

"_The_ Resistance?" Harry looked up, blushing a little and frantically trying to slow down his pulse. "All I have heard of them are only rumors, which I can't find a reliable source of information. Quite honestly, sir, I know nothing about them, except for the fact, that they are fighting the Dark Lord." This wasn't that much of a lie, he thought absentmindedly.

"Don't be ashamed of that, Mr Potter," Lucius smiled, pleased beyond his imagination, "I am glad you are being honest with me. All is well, you will learn the truth in time, while working for me. Yes, yes," he laughed quietly into his curled palm at the sight of Harry's genuine surprise, written all over his wonderfully flushed face, "I am taking you as my personal assistant. You are to come here tomorrow with your belongings. Only do not take much - you will be given everything necessary at my manor, where you would live."

"Your manor, sir?" Harry had no idea he wasn't going to come back home like every other Ministry employee.

"Yes, I work twenty four hours, seven days a weeks, Mr Potter, I will be needing your constant presence and assistance. Of course you will have a few free hours on the weekends to spend some time with your family and friends... However, if it doesn't suit you, I still have a line outside this door..."

"No, no, sir, everything suits me just fine!" Harry hurried to assure him, "I was simply surprised you would let me live at your house, sir."

"Ah, such modesty, Mr Potter, you make me look like a sinful tyrant next to your angelic person," Lucius smiled sincerely, despite his best efforts to look cold and unaffected. Harry was just too _sweet_. "There is no point for you to constantly move between places, it would be much more comfortable and efficient if we were to stay together at all times, don't you think?"

"Of course, Mr Malfoy," he nodded indulgently, inwardly cursing Sirius into oblivion. Like a hurricane the man brought only bad news and destruction with him.

"We are settled then," Lucius relaxed into his chair, pleased the torture was finally over. He only hoped Harry Potter would hold longer in his position then his predecessor, who was executed eventually. For treason. "Tomorrow, here at 8 in the morning, sharp."

"Yes, sir," Harry stood up and bowed.

"Oh, and Potter," Lucius called when Harry was already at the door, "Shoo those idiots away and cancel the interview advertisements on your way."

"Of course, Mr Malfoy. Good day, sir."

After he left, Lucius spent a long time sitting behind his desk and thinking about the lovely young wizard he had hired. He paged through James Potter's file, finding nothing interesting there. He still remembered him from their school years, although Potter was a few years younger, his pranks hadn't missed the older Slytherin students. However, apart from pranking, he hadn't excelled in anything else, the only noteworthy detail about that man was that he made Sirius Black a godfather to his son. Black, his wife Narcissa's cousin, a dark wizard. Of course, everybody knew of Sirius' alliances during the war, but the fact remained - Harry Potter could have been swayed to the side of the Dark and made into a trustworthy follower. What a promising young man. What an unexpected twist of Fate! Smiling smugly, Lucius sipped on his glass of white wine - he had an amiable reason to celebrate.

**xxx**

"Well, how did it go?" Ron all but jumped on Harry, when he entered the small room at the second floor of Rover's bar. "Did he interview you?"

"Yeah, I got the job," Harry sighed, feeling his knees finally giving away.

Sirius helpfully pushed a chair under him, smiling and cheering along with the others. "Great news, pup! I told you he would like you!"

"You haven't told me I will have to live at his manor and work 24/7 for him," Harry grumbled, scowling at his godfather.

"Well, his previous assistant wasn't, so... I couldn't have foreseen that," Sirius shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "But look on the bright side: you will be able to listen in to any private meeting he would be holding at home!"

"It's alright, Harry," his father patted him on the shoulder and caressed his hair, smiling sadly. "You are too old to live with your parents anyway, it would be a good experience, besides, Sirius is right. You will have an even better access to his activities than we thought."

"But how will I pass on the information if I would be constantly under his radar?" Harry tiredly rubbed on his face and eyes, wishing nothing else but to fall asleep and find out it all to be some kind of a sick nightmare.

"We all work with the Death Eaters," Ron explained, "We constantly visit the Ministry, plus, both James and Sirius are often there as well. There would always be one of us to take a note from you. You are under a radar, but you have the right to greet old friends or share lunch with your other colleagues."

"Yeah, right," he frowned at his friend's patronizing tone, as if Ron was talking to an infant. He wasn't a spy, James Bond was a muggle fictional character, there was no real professional he cold ask for a few lessons in deceit and disguise. "So, what should I be looking for in his documents and such?" he turned to his godfather.

"First get used to your duties and sort everything by categories. We will decide then what is more significant to us," Sirius winked, looking very pleased with himself.

"Fine."

Standing under the rain in the garden an hour later, Harry listened to the screams coming out of the house. James was telling Lily of his new job. A coward that he was, Harry felt he couldn't make himself face his mother right now. He knew what she would say and she would be right of course. But it was _her_, for whom he wanted to fight this war, as Sirius called it. For her happiness. He was ready to work for Malfoy as long as it took him to find a way to free her from the humiliating life she was forced to lead. Wasn't it a reason enough to risk his own well being? Harry knew he hadn't yet fully realized his situation, he knew it would all look differently in the morning, scary, unbearable, but he couldn't back out after he had already succeeded in his first step. All what was left for him now to do, was to resign and accept his Fate.

"What do you have to say about this?" Lily grabbed him on the shoulder and turned him around, looking like a ghost in the darkness of the night, her face pale and dump under the heavy rain. "Why have you agreed, Harry? To serve Malfoy, of all people?"

Looking into her green eyes, _his eyes_, full of life and anger, fear, pain, Harry couldn't help but cry at the sight. "I'm sorry, mom, but I'm doing this for you!"

"For me? Are you sacrificing your life for me? What kind of a twisted devotion is this?" she cried, shaking him harshly by his arms, trying in vain to wake him up.

"I'm doing this to make you free again! Don't you see? If I would be able to help, the Resistance might bring the Dark Lord down sooner and you will get your freedom, live like a normal human being! Without a mark! You would be _happy_ again!" he shouted back at her, suddenly angry at Lily and at himself for having their first conversation in years at such time, in such position.

His words had shaken her, he could see it, for her tears mixed with rain drops on her cheeks, and her hands squeezed his arms frantically, as if he was going to vanish out of her hold and never come back again. "Harry, if anything happens to you, I would never forgive you and myself for that. You would never make me happy by dying for me."

"I know, I'm not going to die," Harry grumbled, pushing his wet hair back and rubbing the water out of his eyes. "I must do this, mom. For you, for us." He thought he sounded pathetic, for it seemed like he was convincing himself, not his mother.

"Promise you would come here every time you have an opportunity," she whispered desperately, trembling in the cold but stubbornly standing her ground and holding him. "_Promise me_."

"I promise," he bowed his head.


	2. Chapter II

_Disclaimer_: _nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning_: _non canonical, AU, M/M slash, explicit language, violence, abuse, M rating for a reason._

* * *

**Resistance.**

**Chapter II.**

**The gathering of the clouds.**

_"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear." Mark Twain_

Harry lay in his bed, with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling and trying to realize that he was sleeping here for the last time in a long, foreseeable future. He had always had this bed, ever since he turned three. Nothing in his room had really changed during the eighteen years and knowing now that he was going to leave this place made Harry suddenly acknowledge how truly _childish_ it seemed. Lily has really been trying to keep him a baby as long as it was possible. With a bittersweet sadness he looked around, taking in the furniture, toys and books he knew better than himself, knew every crack, every spot, every inch of them. _His last morning of his childhood_. The moment he left this house he would become an adult and there would be no place for tears, fear and regret. He glanced at the small digital clock on his desk, still unused to not squinting or blindly feeling for his glasses to see properly. It was six in the morning. He had to get up, pack and leave to come at the office a little earlier - he knew it would be a good form to be punctual.

Looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he tried to understand if he had gone insane or if the world around him had. How could he have agreed to this? How could he have thrown himself away so easily, what for? For his parents. Harry sighed resentfully and threw his towel at the mirror. Now more then ever he wanted to tell Hermione about all of his worries and doubts. She had run away with her family, leaving her home and friends behind, leaving everything for her parent's safety. They would have been definitely killed and she would have been branded and sent to serve as a slave or worse, married to some low life wizard to produce another half-blood. What kind of life was that? How could his mother stand it? But she didn't, he saw it in her hollow, impassive gaze, she existed like a plant, ready to wither away any moment. Could he leave her to suffer? Could he close his eyes and honestly, consciously say she was better off this way? _Of course not_. If serving Malfoy was what it took to help her - Harry was ready to do it.

He went down with his bag in his hand, wearing his new formal robe and shiny dandy shoes he really didn't like. Patting his chest pocket, Harry checked his cigarette pack - it was full. He doubted he would be able to smoke at work, doubted Malfoy would appreciate his horrible muggle habits, but he was incapable of giving it up. In his new situation smoking was his only escape and way of relaxing.

"Would you like to eat before leaving?" Lily asked quietly, appearing at the kitchen's threshold. "It's only 7:15, you have plenty of time."

"I can't, I'm too nervous." When was the las time he had admitted something like that to his mother, shared his fears with her? "A cup of coffee will do, I think." He brushed past her and took his cup from the dryer. It was his favourite muggle cup with a funny picture of Merlin on it, who looked like Albus Dumbledore wearing a pointed hat covered in stars. He couldn't take it with him, it didn't belong in the outside world, in his new life of a spy. Harry chuckled bitterly at the thought. A few days ago he wouldn't have believed he was capable of something so... _fictional_.

"You can still call it off, you know," his mother offered tentatively, sitting down at the table and watching him intently, as if trying to remember every tiny detail of his face.

"I can't, you know that very well," Harry gulped down the hot black liquid and ate a few mint candies his father brought from the supermarket.

"Take those with you," she gestured at the box of mints on the shelf, "Nobody likes the smell of cigarettes on an employee at the Ministry."

"You... you know?" he stared at her, perplexed. He thought she didn't care.

"Of course I _know_, Harry," Lily sighed heavily and pushed her fork to lie properly beside the plate, although it had been already laid out in careful symmetry. "Good luck. I hope you wouldn't regret your decision," she added, when Harry moved to leave.

"Thanks, mom." He wanted to embrace her, to kiss her, to feel her gentle hands on his face, just like they used to caress each other when he was little. But there was a huge rim between them he had no idea how to fix. Harry looked at her one last time, longingly and sorrowfully, and disappeared, leaving her to stare at the two empty plates on the table.

**xxx**

"Ah, Mr Potter, ten minutes earlier, I see," Lucius smiled at the sight of the young wizard obediently waiting by his office with a small bag in his hands. "Punctuality is a rare quality I highly value in people. Come in," he waved his hand and the door opened before him. He threw his long blond hair behind his shoulders and took off his warm cloak, dropping it carelessly over the armchair. Sitting down at his desk, Lucius took a thick file out of one of the many drawers and handed it over to Harry, who was once again modestly seated opposite him. "Here is the full list of your duties as my personal assistant, at least these are all you predecessor used to fulfill."

"If I may ask: what has happened to him, sir?" Harry looked up at his irreproachably looking boss. Malfoy looked particularly languorous today, dressed in pink and grey robe, comfortably slumped in his puffy leather chair.

"You may. He was executed for treason," Lucius replied nonchalantly, sipping on his tea and checking the fresh issue of the Daily Prophet that Harry had brought him - he usually got his newspaper much later, in the Ministry's hall.

"For _treason_?" Harry breathed out, staring unseeingly at the words on the parchments in the file.

"He turned out to be a member of the Resistance under polyjuice. Can you imagine that?" Lucius laughed soundlessly and pushed a teacup, that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, towards Harry. "By the way, Mr Potter, do indulge me in drinking the polyjuice antidote."

"Of course," Harry hastily drank the bitter tea, relieved that there was nothing to suspect him for. _Yet_.

"Wonderful. I knew you were very much real and your own self, but it never hurts to be cautious," Lucius smiled charmingly and banished the empty china with a flick of his fingers. Harry's careful watching didn't escape his attention, but he decided to let it rest for a time being. If the Potter boy proved trustworthy and reliable, they would discuss the matter of his further education. For now, though, he needed Harry to understand what his duties were. "So, what do you think of the list?" he arched his eyebrow, looking at the file pointedly.

Wondering what exactly had given his predecessor away, Harry quickly scanned the text, raising his eyebrows at times at particular points, but all in all his job wasn't harder than he had expected it to be. "It is not easy, nor it is hard, Mr Malfoy. I think I will manage fine."

"Any questions?" The young wizard proved to be a very good choice.

"No, sir," Harry said simply. Many of the points written on the list were outright mocking him, baiting to speak up. He knew better than react to provoking - Draco had taught him well during their many quidditch matches about patience and ignorance to teasing. "Everything is quite clear."

Lucius raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise. Either Potter didn't have any kind of dignity, accepting all of the tasks, or he was much smarter and more perceptive than he had imagined him to be. _Intriguing_. "Wonderful, Mr Potter. Simply wonderful. Now, tell me of any of your bad habits, if you even have those. I must know everything about the man I am trusting with my work and letting into my house," he tilted his head to the side, watching the lovely face redden in embarrassment. Salazar, he had never met anybody so innocent and shy before! And the boy was a gryffindor, oh, the _irony_!

"I smoke," Harry bit out shakily, thinking that this was the end of his career that hadn't even started yet.

"Is that all?" Lucius asked lowly, barely restraining himself from laughing out loud at Harry's unbelievable insecurity.

"Yes, sir. Nothing else." Breathing deeply, he didn't dare to look up. However, a loud, indignant snort made his head shot up and he widened his eyes at the sight of a genuinely laughing Lucius Malfoy, who was failing at covering his mouth with his groomed, weak hand.

"Mr Potter, I thought you couldn't be more blameless," Lucius coughed into his fist, trying to cover up his mirth. "Smoking is not prohibited, just do it outside the manor, whenever you wish to."

Catching his breath, Harry smiled nervously, "Thank you, sir." He was going to loose his sanity by the end of the day, if he kept worrying about every man's questions. However, if he wasn't cautious, he could very well lose his life instead.

"Now that we have covered this, it is time for you to officially begin your work. There is a stack of mail in that bureau in the corner - sort it, throw away useless rubbish like invitations to parties and petitions, appeals for pardon, etc. Bring me first the letters that demand my written answer. And I will watch you work and note the time you would spend on the task," Lucius leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. "The faster you work, the more you would manage to finish in one day, the more free hours I will give you on the weekend. The scheme is quite simple, isn't it?"

"Of course, sir," Harry nodded, rose from his seat and went over to the bureau, telling himself to ignore the man's intent staring. Malfoy was all but boring a whole in his head, but he knew he had to be patient and concentrated on his task.

The word _stack_ was an understatement - it was a _mountain_ of letters, that poured from behind the unlocked lid and spread all over the carpet underneath Harry's feet. Thinking that Malfoy wouldn't have anything against the usage of magic, he took out his holly wand and waved his hand in a simple pattern, murmuring the incantation of his own creation. The countless envelopes slowly rose up in the air and moved to float in a straight line before him, turning so that he could read the names on their faces. Waving his hands to the left and to the right, Harry quickly sorted out invitations and sent them into the hearth. He then sat down at the desk and casted another spell of his, that traced the letters sent by the same person. All those were petitions, constantly sent from parents and children of those, who were being prosecuted and were ordered to be executed soon. He knew the names from the papers, so a thick stack of these also flew into the hearth.

Harry opened everything that was left, quickly reading the contents and marking the ones that needed a written answer. "Sign those that only need my signature yourself," he heard Malfoy drawl amusedly. The man was watching him with his eyebrows raised high in wonder at the pace of his work. "You can find an example of it here," he sent a piece of parchment float over to the bureau and Harry caught it, nodding in affirmation. Having had made up a small stack of the important correspondence, Harry sent it to his boss, instantly beginning to sign what was left. Malfoy's signature was rather intricate, it's cursive had its own unique flourish, that was hard to copy, but not for him. In his fourth year at Hogwarts Harry had crafted a spell that let him imitate other's handwriting, although his initial aim was to create the one that would have turned Hermione's writings into his, when he couldn't make an adequate essay for potions. Nevertheless, the spell proved to be useful in falsification of the passes for being late and out of curfew.

"Show me your signature," Lucius demanded, surprised at how confidently and quickly Harry was signing the letters and orders. When the young wizard came to stand by him with a perfect copy of his autograph in his hands, he couldn't help but widen his eyes in astonishment. "How have you managed it so _fast_, Mr Potter?"

"A spell I have created, sir." Lying wasn't an option, he had to be most truthful to gain the man's trust.

"Cheated in school?" he smiled cunningly, giving the green eyed boy a knowing look.

"Only in potions, sir," Harry smiled, remembering Snape's displeased, sour face at the endless praise Slughorn was giving him for his high marks. _If only the old bat knew._

"We won't tell Headmaster Snape about this," Lucius winked at him conspiratorially, once again marveling the boy's lovely blush. Potter turned out to be a little trickster. He found he grew to like the boy even more. "When you are finished with signing, come and sit here next to me, I will be dictating you the text for the answers."

When Harry sat down on the wizard's left and prepared to write, Lucius cleared his throat and creased his brow, reading the first letter out of the stack. "Write down: Since the whereabouts of Anthony Rickett are unknown, proceed with kidnapping his mother. The necessity of torture would be determined later... Is something _wrong_, Mr Potter?" he gave the boy a feral smile, seeing that he was staring at the name with a grave expression on his face.

"Rickett was a Hufflepuff's beater in my year, sir, that is all," Harry stubbornly finished the text, bracing himself for more to come. Nobody had told him he was going to be giving out death certificates at his new job.

"Perhaps, you find our methods unfair?" He was genuinely curious to see the boy's reaction.

"It is not my place to judge, sir, I never knew him outside the quidditch pitch or classroom, I do not know what is he accused of." Harry imagined that he was an emotionless robot, that could not have any kind of compassion towards others, even if he knew them well. And he did know Rickett, they have recently played a match together at the Diagon Alley pitch in February and now he was writing an order to kidnap the boy's mother. For a moment there he sincerely questioned his own sanity. Was he going to let others die for the sake of his mother's happiness?

Lucius didn't say anything, only kept watching the green eyed wizard intently, carefully. It was obvious that Harry was upset. "Perhaps, you wish to save him?" he made a guess.

"I don't have a hero complex, sir," Harry smiled wryly and tapped the parchment with the tip of his holly wand and his crooked handwriting turned into a nice copy of Hermione's elegant one.

"Another one of your _advantages_, Mr Potter," Lucius sighed in satisfaction and waved his hand, indicating for Harry to prepare a clean page for another answer. "Let's get done with this as quickly as possible."

An hour later Harry found himself in the lavatory, frantically grabbing on the edge of the sink, willing his tears of horror away. All the letters he had written for Malfoy were orders to kidnap, kill, torture... Most of the names he knew very well, for they belonged to his peers from Hogwarts. They all were found guilty of treason, all were connected with the Resistance. Trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut, terrified by the prospect of writing an order for Ron's execution one day. Or Sirius', or his father's. Would Malfoy laugh at him and shower him with compliments then? Hyperventilating, Harry turned on the cold water and splashed it all over his burning face, trying hard to calm himself down. _Sick_, this was absolutely sick.

When he returned into the office, Lucius gave him an incredulous look and silently shook his head, pitying him and laughing at his torment it seemed. "I fear I wasn't thorough in explaining what kind of work exactly you were supposed to do for me, Mr Potter. Perhaps, you are not strong enough?"

"I confess I never expected to... write orders for execution, but I am fine now, sir. I am fine," Harry said firmly, looking at his boss in determination. There were potions and spells for weak stomach and nerves, everything else he could overcome - it wasn't a reason to back out now.

"I am very pleased to hear that," Lucius smiled broadly, tapping his long, manicured fingers on the heavy snake head of his cane. "Now, you may go and enjoy your first lunch at the Ministry, while I pay a visit to a friend of mine. Be back at the office by two o'clock, we will go to Malfoy Manor and you will meet my family, staff and set up your accomodation."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Harry bowed respectfully and watched as Malfoy stepped into the green flames of his fireplace and disappeared in a whoosh of sparkles and ashes.

Sighing, Harry slowly walked up one level and stopped in the middle of the Main Hall, not knowing where the cafeteria was situated. Looking around helplessly, he bitterly thought that there was no point in searching for it, since he couldn't force anything into his churning stomach anyway.

"Harry! Long time no see!" A heavy hand patted him on the shoulder hard and he stared at the bright, freckled face of Ron Weasley. "Fancy a lunch together? We have so much to catch up between us boys, eh?" The redheaded wizard took him by the arm and dragged him somewhere to the right, grinning idiotically all the while.

"Ron? What are you doing here?" Harry mumbled, when he was pushed to sit behind the furthest table in a spacious, well lit cafe, full of colourfully dressed ministry employees.

"Smile, act like we haven't seen each other, like old mates," Ron hissed at him and winked at a random woman, waving his hand in greeting at a group of quidditch players in the opposite corner. "I am here visiting the Games and Sports Department, was anticipating to find you. _So_?" He stared at Harry expectantly, tapping on the table impatiently with his knuckles.

"What?" Harry frowned in confusion.

"Tell me something, anything you have discovered," the wizard explained, rolling his eyes in exasperation, "Don't sleep, Harry!"

"Oh, right..." he still didn't like that patronizing air around Ron, as if the redhead himself was an experienced spy, who had been plotting and overthrowing governments for his whole life, which wasn't much longer than Harry's. Why was he acting so superiorly towards him, when he wasn't the one who had to lick Malfoy's arse and constantly risk his life, standing by the side of one of the closest, most trusted generals of the Dark Lord? "Rickett's mom will be kidnapped tonight," he said nonchalantly, seething on the inside, and sipped on the glass of juice an elf brought him.

"_What_?!" Ron's pale blue eyes widened in horror.

"Yeah... Mike Corr, do you remember him? He is going to be executed tomorrow morning, will be kissed by a dementor," Harry chewed on an apple, looking around lazily, as if they were discussing weather.

"H-how do you know all this...?" the other swallowed harshly, as his face reddened and then turned sickeningly green in colour.

"Oh, my job is to write down all the orders for executions, prosecutions, kidnaps, premeditated murders and stuff," Harry sighed mockingly, "Didn't you know?" At Ron's dumb, terrified expression he twisted his lips in a parody of a smile, "Imagine, how wonderful my job is. I am going to write death certificates for each and every one of you eventually and there would be nothing I could do but smile sweetly at Malfoy and pour him brandy after every successful demonstrative execution at the Diagon Alley. What a unique opportunity, _indeed_."

"Harry, mate... I swear, I didn't know... But... " Ron stammered and shut up, rubbing on his neck uncomfortably and staring at the wooden pattern on the surface of their table. "Fuck, this is so _sick_," he breathed out and looked up at Harry, who simply arched an imperious eyebrow at him.

"Isn't it?"

"Listen, Harry, don't give me that shit!" the redhead hissed, scowling and reddening again, in anger this time. "I know it's hard, no, I don't know and don't want to ever find out, but you must do this! With this information we can save lives, we can prevent some of our people from being kidnapped or assassinated! Don't you see how actually useful your position is?"

Looking at him as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life, Harry slumped back in his chair and chuckled mirthlessly, "It's you, who doesn't see anything. Ron, I am signing the execution orders for him! I am actually participating in killing people! Do you think I will get out of this alive, when, _if_ you would succeed? I will die with all the knowledge I am bearing. I have signed my own death order when I came to your meeting!" He squeezed the apple too hard in a bout of devastation and it burned down in his hand and turned to ash. He hastily hid it under the table but Ron had noticed it, though, never said anything about it.

"Harry, it was your choice to join us. Now you have to face the consequences. We all risk our lives doing this," he grumbled, "If you thought it all to be a game..."

"No, I think _you_ all take this for a game, playing spies and secret angents, while _I_ am actually holding people's lives in my hands and watch them die. And I am already a deadman myself. I don't know when will I be able to have a free weekend to meet you all... Tell them what I've told you, I don't have appetite and I don't want to talk to you anymore," Harry stood up sharply and left, not looking back at Ron, who tried to call him, but it gained too much attention and he stayed in his place, watching Harry's retreating back.

**xxx**

"You don't look like you had a decent lunch, Mr Potter," Lucius looked Harry over, arching one of his eyebrows in displeasure.

"Excuse me, sir, but I didn't find the menu that much _appealing_ and there were too many people," Harry looked down modestly, sighing, hating the sour taste of the blasted apple on his tongue.

"Hmm, all the better, as I see it. I never eat at that hole. Good to know you have some sense to appreciate decent food and company, Mr Potter. You will be having lunch with me from now on, in the city, as I always do," Malfoy drawled, stretching his thin lips in a small smile. The boy's shyness and reluctance for socializing played out well for him - he could easily sway him to the Dark side. Lucius had mastered the many ways of persuading and brainwashing and Harry promised to be the _most pleasant_ and joyful victim in one of his games. "I suggest we depart now and spend the rest of the day at the Manor, for tomorrow we have to start earlier than usual, since it is the beginning of the playing season. As much as I don't care for quidditch I still have to attend all the locations and perform a thorough inspection," he sighed dramatically and gestured for Harry to follow him into the fireplace.

"Yes, sir," Harry obediently agreed, feeling strangely distant and resigned. What he told Ron was true - he couldn't escape this place, not after he had seen and signed everything in those orders and letters. It wasn't just a test, it was a warning from Malfoy, that people didn't quit this position by their own will.

However, when he stepped out of the hearth and onto a soft and thick rug, very much like quicksands, Harry couldn't help but stare around in amazement, barely keeping his jaw from dropping down onto the floor. He found himself in a real pureblood manor: in dark, edwardian interiors with heavy, roughly cut but nevertheless elegant furniture of wood and leather, thick, dusty, black curtains, hiding the sunlight away, huge chandeliers of hundreds of candles and large, narrow mirrors hanging down from the walls amidst old magical paintings. Turning his head as fast as he could, he followed his boss through the endless rooms, parlours and corridors and into the hall with a grand staircase taking up most of its space.

"Well, how do you find our good old family _crypt_?" Lucius smirked, giving Harry a knowing, pitying look. Potters had lost most of their fortune and all of their property at the beginning of the war, when Charlus Potter gave almost everything he had to Dumbledore, leaving his son practically bankrupt by the time he had graduated from Hogwarts. Harry, though entitled to live in luxury, had never seen any of his family's gold, jewels, treasures, all the legacy he should have inherited was lost for him forever.

"Your manor is very beautiful, sir. Dark, but I don't find it oppressing, on the contrary, very welcoming, comfortable, if I may say so," Harry breathed out sincerely, smiling shyly and bowing to a few portraits who woke up and were watching him curiously.

"Splendid. Then it wouldn't be a problem to make this place a second home to you," Lucius hummed, satisfied, and ascended the stairs, leading Harry to the second floor and into his bedroom. It was bigger than his own at Godric's Hollow, decorated in dark wood and green wallpaper of silk. A huge bed, an old chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a writing desk and an armchair beside a small marble hearth - that was more than enough for Harry, it all looked so rich, aristocratic, foreign to him. "I know this environment is very unusual for you, but you will have to get used to it, for I do not accept anything but the best, the most expensive, of the highest quality. You may have noticed that, since I chose _you_ out of all the candidates to become my assistant. You have to look up to me and live and behave accordingly to my status, Mr Potter." Lucius was watching the young wizard intently, smiling inwardly at his emotions written so openly on his face - Harry wasn't haughty, wasn't arrogant, wasn't full of himself or thick, he was insecure, true, but also noble and modest, unpretentious. It was a true wonder how such a _gem_ managed to develop and survive in their world, in such a pathetic family as Potters.

"I understand, sir, I will do my best," Harry bowed his head and offered Malfoy a small smile.

"I have no doubts," Lucius smirked and moved to leave the room, but stopped at the treshold. "Ah, the elf's name that would be serving you is Dobby. You may call him whenever you need anything. Join me at dinner in two hours." The door behind him closed and Harry was left alone in his new bedroom._ His new life_.

He looked around, thinking that so far it all had been too easy for him. He drank a polyjuice antidote - certainly, Malfoy wasn't so easy to fool, not after a member of the Resistance had managed to throw such a fit. There had to be a trick somewhere. Perhaps, he was paranoid, but he wished to live as long as he could and for that he had to be very cautious. And there it was, a painting on the wall, a simple one really - a landscape that displayed the exact weather outside, however, Harry knew that people, depicted in many different portraits he had seen on his way here, could easily travel between the pictures and were no doubt going to spy on him. He couldn't spell the frame to throw them out, or freeze the painting itself, for this would surely rise suspicions. Sighing, he concluded he couldn't keep any kind of correspondence in this room, couldn't do anything except sleeping and changing clothes, basically.

Harry opened the door and inspected his personal bathroom - a novice for him, since he had been sharing one with his parents at home ever since he remembered himself and with his friends and peers during his stay at Hogwarts. For the first time in his life he was going to have his own bathtub and have an opportunity to spend as much time in it as he wished. Well, his life at death's door did have some _advantages_, he thought sarcastically and put his toothbrush on the sink. He hanged his few robes and suits into the wardrobe, placed his underwear and pajamas into the drawers and moved to the window, pushing the heavy curtains aside and squinting at the bright sunlight. It was really dark inside. Harry cracked the window open and took a long, deep breath, inhaling the fresh air. Just like in the painting on the wall, endless hills of green lay before him, covered in wild flowers and grass, with rare trees spread all over the territory - the land that belonged to Malfoys was unimaginably vast, it was probably situated in an unplotted area somewhere in the south of the country. Harry took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling the bitter smoke with pleasure. He wondered if he could have ever taken this job by his own wish, without any Resistance pushing him. Perhaps, he would have been too self-conscious to even dare to think that he could have this. Who would have thought Malfoy would _like_ him so much?

"Dinner served, master Potter, you is waited in dining room," a quiet voice announced and Harry turned to see a pair of huge, scared eyes staring at him out of the shadowed corner.

Banishing his cigarette, he stepped closer and bent a little to take a closer look at the small elf. "You are Dobby, right?" At the creature's hesitant, nervous nod, Harry smiled and held out his hand, "Hello, I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

Dobby shrank from him, as if in fear of being hit and Harry frowned, slowly lowering his hand. Seeing that the wizard wasn't going to harm him, the elf looked up at him, trembling, "Excuse us, master Potter, my masters never touch dirty, ugly things like Dobby."

"They beat you, don't they?" It wasn't hard to guess, really. Purebloods and wizards in general never saw elves as decent, worthy beings, using them as mere slaves. "I know you can't say anything bad about your masters, do not worry, I'm not going to ever hurt you or shout at you," he sighed and offered Dobby a small smile.

"Master Potter is so kind!" the elf squeaked and stared at Harry in adoration.

"Could you show me the way, Dobby? I think I will get lost in here on my own," Harry shrugged helplessly and smiled some more, when the creature happily ran forward, leading him and naming every room they were passing on their way.

"Now, now, my dear, let me introduce my new assisstant, Harold Potter," Lucius high, gentle voice greeted him in the Great Hall of the manor, where a long, massive table and a set of chairs stood, leaving plenty of free space for the whole gryffindor house to hold a ball. Harry tentatively stepped closer at his boss' sign and bowed lowly to the lady of the house, Narcissa Malfoy. If he used to think that Draco was a copy of his father, he was gravely mistaken, for all of his small, pointed and rather feminine features the insufferable blonde had inherited from his mother. Small, slender woman with a pale, bored face greeted him, showing nothing in the cold, watery blue eyes that roamed over his form and inspected his face with outmost attention.

"What a _lovely_ young man you are, Mr Potter," after a tiny second of consideration she offered her hand for him to take and kiss, as if she doubted he was worthy of even looking at her.

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Malfoy," Harry said quietly, placing a modest, featherlight kiss onto a cold, veined hand. Narcissa looked ill, weak, withering away like a late flower that stayed too long into the autumn.

"Father!" a high-pitched shriek made them all turn their heads. "What on earth is _Potter_ doing in our dining room?!" Draco stormed inside, glaring at Harry hatefully, habitually holding his wand in his hand, ready to fight him, like they used to in the darkness of the school's corridors long after curfew.

"_Draco_," Lucius growled warningly and Harry had to restrain himself from raising his eyebrows in surprise, for he could never imagine that such a soft, delicate person as Lucius could have such a deep, rumbling voice. It suddenly made him look truly dangerous, the cunning serpent that he was. "Mr Potter is my new personal assistant and you would behave yourself, since he is going to live here and work for me. If you disturb him, I would send you away again, and this time for a much, much longer period." With that the wizard took his wife by the arm and led her to her seat, gesturing for Harry to sit on his right side, while the family members sat on his left.

Enraged, Draco shut up and dropped himself on his chair, turning up his nose and pointedly ignoring Harry's presence, which Harry couldn't find that bad at all.

"Mr Potter, my husband has told me a lot about you, to be honest, I imagined you were... older, more _experienced_," Narcissa addressed him in a plain, bored tone that he thought was quite typical for aristocrates. Somehow, they found such fashion of speech appropriate and beautiful for their society. For Harry it sounded downright snob and impolite, but his opinion wasn't going to be appreciated, of course, and he kept it to himself.

"I am rather inexperienced, madame, but I strive to improve and be of a better use to Mr Malfoy in the future," he ducked his head shyly and lowered his long eyelashes, blushing slightly. He never did this on purpose, it was his natural reaction to any kind of conversation with people he didn't know well, however, he thought it was going to help him get in Malfoys' good graces.

"He may be young and green, but he is the only worthy candidate of all I have interviewed during the whole week, darling. Mr Potter is a very promising young man and a very modest one, which, I am sure, you would find quite lovely and refreshing," Lucius smiled at her and gave Harry a mirthful, laughing look, sipping on his wine.

"_Right_," Draco scoffed, clattering his fork against the plate, "Potter and modesty are two completely polar concepts that have nothing in common! You should have seen him cursing me at the school!" he cried indignantly and reddened, glaring at Harry, who gave him a calm, impassive look like he always did before frying the brat up with a particularly nasty spell.

"I regret he hasn't done it enough times that you learned some modesty and self-control," Lucius clicked his tongue and twisted his lips, looking at his son tiredly. He was fed up with the boy's constant complaints and caprices, but there was nothing he could do about it now after Narcissa had spoiled their son so horribly. "Do not mind Draco, Mr Potter, however, I would suggest to refrain from dueling and fighting, or you both would regret it very much," he gave them both a pointed, warning look and concentrated on his meal.

"Of course, sir," Harry nodded and carefully picked on his food, forcing a little bit of everything into his stomach, knowing all too well that it wouldn't be polite to reject such expensive food. Draco grimaced, mimicking him in a mocking, quite unpleasant fashion and blew him a raspberry, hiding it behind his hand. But Harry didn't take the bait - in that he had a most abundant _experience_.

"So what does a young man of your... _descent_ prefers to do in his spare time?" Narcissa asked him lazily, barely looking at him. It seemed her eyes were too tired to focus on him properly and were constantly gliding down, past him, to stop somewhere on the table-cloth.

"Since I cannot afford much, I enjoy reading and spell crafting, I constantly try to improve myself in wielding my magic," he said quietly, hating the hidden mockery in her words, since she knew very well that all that was left to him of his family's wealth and fame was just his name.

"Mr Potter, as it turns out, is the best student of their year in Defense, Curses and Spell Craft, Draco," Lucius drawled, however, the acid in his tone was quite evident, "When you have told us it was you who got the highest marks in these subjects. I have seen Mr Potter's reference written by Severus Snape himself, which, as you know very well, is a rarity nowadays. There had only been two of these, written by him personally - yours and Mr Potter's."

Since Draco couldn't say anything to that, keeping his head bowed as lowly above his plate as it was possible, Narcissa leaned a little bit closer and finally made her eyes focus on Harry's, "You must be a very skilled, talented wizard, if Headmaster Snape had personally praised you so highly even despite his well known hatred towards your parents." Oh how well she knew where to push to make him seethe inside, but Harry held his emotions under control and only lowered his gaze in embarrassment.

"I am grateful to Headmaster Snape and I wish I could repay him somehow for such generosity, since I always used to think of myself as of a very ordinary wizard."

"You are working for me now, Mr Potter, and I collect only the most _extraordinary_ things, so you should feel proud and better of yourself," Lucius smiled cunningly behind his glass and Harry offered him a small smile in return, inwardly cringing at the notion that he was a thing, a collectable object like a postal mark. He actually liked Malfoy so far, despite the man's obvious cruelty, heartlessness and vanity, superciliousness, but he wished he was treated like a human being, not a slave under an illusion of an employee.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, for only Lucius was speaking, telling his family of different people Harry never knew but figured he had to and he kept listening intently and memorizing every name and detail that was given. It was his duty to sort the correspondence and know exactly whose letters were first priority, whose could wait and whose could have been answered by himself as insignificant ones. After tea Narcissa glided out of the room, taking the still fuming Draco with her. Left together at the table, Harry and Lucius both involuntarily relaxed. Noticing it, the blonde wizard laughed quietly into his fist and ordered two drinks for them.

"I hope you drink, Mr Potter?" A glass of brandy appeared before Harry and he held his breath for a moment, remembering his most unpleasant experiences with alcohol in the gryffindor common room.

"Yes, sir. Though I can't say I am an expert or that I have tasted a plentiful variety of drinks."

"You will learn in time, do not worry about that," Lucius smiled, feeling very pleased and a little excited with a prospect of teaching Harry everything he was supposed to know since his birth. Teaching Draco wasn't as joyful and rewarding, he had to admit, for his son had never appreciated the knowledge he was sharing with him, taking everything for granted. While this green eyed boy seemed to be not only bright and noble, but naturally curious and highly talented, born to be an aristocrat of a highest sort. How truly _satisfying_ it would be to take Harry under his wing and raise him a most prominent, worthy wizard of their new world.

"Thank you, sir, I do not deserve all your time and hard work of teaching me." And here was his proof that it would be indeed most pleasant hobby of his - to make Harry Potter what he had always wanted his son to be. Watching the fresh, childish blush on the round, lovely cheeks, Lucius couldn't help but admire the boy's handsomeness, sexuality, his bright, intelligent green eyes hidden behind the wild, unruly black curls. His hand squeezed the arm of the chair tightly, as he suppressed his unexpected desire to card his fingers through this hair, to tug on it, to inhale its scent and marvel its soft texture.

"I hope everything is to your liking here?" Lucius wished he could find his suddenly awoken desire a bad sign, a reason to leave and stay distant from the young wizard, but he simply couldn't. It had been so long since somebody had intrigued and exhilarated him so much, turned him on. He wished to take Harry's innocence, but knew it was going to be his worst mistake and he had to reluctantly tame the beast, that was clawing on his chest. _Lust_ was one of the most destructive powers he had no wish of bringing upon himself.

"Yes, sir, thank you. This place is truly wonderful, I like it very much," Harry tried to ignore the strange gleam he caught in the pale grey eyes, told himself it was a flicker of the fire from the candles, however, something was telling him his wishful thinking was pointless. Swallowing as lightly as he could, he took another sip of brandy, fearing that Malfoy started to suspect him. What else could that strange, burning look mean?

**xxx**

Sitting on the windowsill, smoking into the open window and looking at the stars that were so bright here, Harry thought of his parents with whom he had parted so suddenly. Did they miss him? Did they even notice he wasn't there? Or maybe James had once again fallen asleep in front of the telly and had completely forgotten that Harry wouldn't come down to turn it off and wake him up to shoo him into bed? Was Lily thinking of him now or had she been cooking and cleaning the whole day and had no time or wish to even remember that she had to put only two plates on the table now, instead of the usual three?

"I wish it all had turned out differently for us," he sighed, blowing out the thick, bluish smoke that froze in the air and slowly melted away, very much like Harry's chance to ever get out of this _alive_. He laughed inwardly at how calmly he accepted his own destiny, which had been once again forced on him. Was there even any point in hoping that one day he would find an opportunity for his mother to safely escape this world, this country, this horrible regime? How hypocritical it was of him to blame the system that hadn't done anything wrong to him _personally_, though. For it was his mother, who had been branded and deprived of her free will, it was his father who had married her instead of trying to get back the family's wealth and dignity. While Harry had had his education at Hogwarts, which was as prestigious as ever, since not everybody could get a chance of being accepted into the famous school; Harry, as a half-blood, could have any kind of job he liked, even at the Ministry, even amongst the Death Eaters, although his name was the only obstacle, since it was in Snape's black books. He could even marry a pureblood witch, if he had enough money to bring into her family. With all honesty, Harry couldn't find the Dark Lord's laws wrong or damaging regarding himself, for he didn't care for muggles and had no wish to assimilate with them and welcome them with open arms.

However, it was his mother he should have been thinking about, not his own petty person. How could he be so selfish and heartless, when the poor woman suffered so much for the sake of having him, her only child, with a man she loved? Harry put the cigarette out by pressing it against his bare arm, hissing and scowling in pain, that didn't bring the necessary soberness and order into his mind. He hated himself for having these rebellious, egoistic thoughts, for daring to put his own being above his family, that had done so much for him... Lily taught him everything about magic long before he went to Hogwarts, she showed him the wondrous world of muggle literature and muggle technology, even though it was looked upon in their society and muggleborns were openly despised for using it. His mother had shared all of her vast knowledge with him, but after he entered the school everything changed, she turned him away, grew distant and they lost that special magic that used to bind them together, to make them so close, so dear. _Bitter and broken_ - this was how Harry felt now, being the independent adult. He had lost his only true friend to something, he had wrongly taken for the political regime at first, but now he thought it was something else entirely. It was as if Lily rejected him for growing up, for becoming a man with his own common sense, his own principles and mentality, she rejected him for becoming who he was now. And here he was, trying to deserve her forgiveness and acceptance by risking his own life, by looking for yet another mirage in an endless desert.

**xxx**

It was four in the morning when Dobby woke him up and hurried him into the bathroom. Showering sleepily, Harry wondered just what exactly did Malfoy have to do at the stupid quidditch pitch so early. His inspection could have waited a few more hours. Rubbing on his tired face harshly with his hands and yawning widely, he went down into the smaller tea room where a breakfast had been set for two. Of course, neither Narcissa, nor Draco were going to get up so early to join them.

"Did you sleep well, Mr Potter?" Lucius asked, barely restraining himself from yawning as well and blinking hastily to stop his eyes from glueing together again.

"Yes, sir," Harry sat down, trying not to lean on the table too much. It would be horrible if they had to work often at such _ungodly_ hours.

"Do not worry," Malfoy chuckled, having had read the boy's thoughts on his tired, funny face, "This is only a one time occasion, I myself hate to wake up so early, since I am a night person and prefer to work when it is dark and sleep when it is daylight."

"Like a vampire," Harry smirked to himself, forgetting for a second where he was and to whom he was talking to. However, it was too late to take his words back and he ducked his head, anticipating the worst.

But Lucius only laughed at him, "Yes, you are right, I am very much like a vampire, though, a nice english breakfast is quite enough for me to give me energy to get through the day, the blood is not necessary." Catching his breath, Harry smiled at the blonde wizard, thinking that he should be more cautious with that long tongue of his, since not his every snide remark would be appreciated, certainly. "I wish you could find it easier to relax around me in the future, Mr Potter, for we will be spending a great deal of time _together_ and it would be simply impossible to stay constantly tensed and alerted," Lucius looked into the green eyes, smiling ever so slightly. "I do not bite and I do appreciate a good joke from time to time, for, as you know, my job is not a very pleasant one, definitely lacks any kind of _humor_."

It was an unexpected confession, however, Harry understood from where Malfoy was coming - it was plausible he never asked for his position in the first place, but being the most trusted follower of the Dark Lord he had no choice but to accept it and see it as a great honour. Shaking his head, Harry gulped down his tea, astonished by his own thoughts. Was he really trying to justify Malfoy, of all people? "I understand, sir. May I ask what is it exactly that you are ought to perform at the pitch today?"

"You may. _We_," Lucius emphasized the last word, smiling slyly, "Are ought to check the perimeter for any kind of magical traps, portals and check the staff for polyjuice and glamour disguises. Aurors will arrive shortly after we are done and seclude the pitch. The inspection is actually their job, but I do not trust them with it - they are mostly useless when it comes to catching criminals."

Probably because almost all of them are members of the Resistance, Harry thought bitterly. He nodded in affirmation and the blonde wizard continued, "We both would be performing the spells and you would also write everything down and make a report later, which I will send to the other departments. We are starting out so early because the report is due to be finished by 11 o'clock, an hour before the game begins."

"I see." It all seemed absolutely pointless to Harry, but since it was his job he wasn't going to complain, not to his boss, definitely.

"Oh, I have almost forgotten," Lucius chuckled, waving his hand, "I received your Gringotts' key yesterday. Now you have your own account for the money I am paying you for your work." He held out a small golden key with a carving of a little snake wrapped around a rose on its end.

"Thank you, sir," Harry breathed out, mesmerized with the shiny object, surprisingly heavy and cold on his palm. He had never had his own vault or bank account, never had his own money, always putting his earn into his father's vault, for him and Lily to spend on their needs. "I thought I was-"

"No, no," Lucius shook his head, "I am not going to let you put your money into Potter's vault. You have nothing to do with it, you are an adult, you don't depend on your parents anymore, and the money is yours and yours alone. Were you actually planning to give them everything you earn until you have grown old yourself?"

"I was," Harry blushed, knowing very well what an idiot he was, but it was the least he could do for his family.

"This is most _generous_ of you," the wizard smiled, thinking that he would never grow tired of marveling the boy's innocence. "However, you don't have to pay for your grandfather's mistakes and your father's as well. The fact that they had lost the family's wealth doesn't make you follow in their steps. The way I see it, working for me you would manage to save an amiable sum to turn it into a small fortune of yours in time. You could start it all over, bring back your name's lost glory, get back the money... If you marry into a pureblood family eventually, you would be able to even buy one or two ancient Potter Manors, that stand empty and unwanted, for nobody is interested in spending money on such vast properties." Lucius tilted his head, watching the young man before him, who was listening to his words and creasing his brow in evident ire. Obviously, he had been thinking about this more than twice, always stopping himself from seeking actual success for the sake of his parents, who had failed at giving him the life he deserved. "Mr Potter," Lucius leaned closer and looked into the shining green eyes, "I have nothing against your parents, but it is time you thought about _your own future_, not their feelings. The step you have taken by coming to an interview at my office was a very courageous one and I praise you for it. Keep working hard and think about your life and the way you wish to spend it, not of your parent's opinion. After all, if they do love you, they would accept you for who you are and would support you in your hard journey towards your goals."

Watching the older wizard in astonishment, Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Everything that Malfoy said was true and he himself had been thinking about it from time to time, hating how materialistic he was, how cynical. He loathed that the blonde was right. "Thank you for your advice, sir. I am ashamed to admit I did think about it, many times, but, perhaps, I am simply too naive and romantic," he laughed bitterly into his cup, avoiding the intent gaze of the grey eyes. "You are a great father, sir," he smiled at the other ruefully, thinking that the man indeed was a good parent and a very patient one, standing the insufferable prat that his son was.

"You are indeed a _romantic_ soul, Mr Potter, which I cannot find a disadvantage," Lucius purred, lowering his eyelashes and watching the boy hungrily. He decided he would wait a little, let the wizard get used to him, to his family, to their work and then he would take him. Slowly, gently, he would _possess_ Harry Potter's body and soul. "I will gladly teach you to manage the finances. As for me being a parent," he rolled his eyes and huffed good-naturally, "I will be honest with you, since you know Draco very well. He is a difficult child, a spoilt one, I have missed the years when I could have made him into a worthy heir. Now, as my only son, he is simply waiting to inherit the wealth and waste it carelessly on whatever it is that tickles his fancies. But I love him, though I am angry I cannot change him or influence him to improve himself, I do love him and accept him for who he is. I will simply have to secure my family's fortune for his children to not be left in the streets without a sickle in their pockets." He laughed quietly and Harry couldn't help but laugh as well, watching the small wrinkles gather around the corners of the pale grey eyes that held no malice in them. Malfoy was a very attractive man, especially when he was relaxed and talked sincerely, openly, like he was now.

"You shouldn't tell Draco that though, sir," he snorted into his cup, imagining the ferret's hysteria that would surely transpire, should he find out about his father's plans.

"Oh no," Lucius smiled broadly like he hadn't done in a very long time, "I would like to live a little longer than _that_," he pressed his hand to his side, as it ached from his strong laughter. It was surprisingly easy and pleasurable to open up to Harry like that, to share something so intimate and personal with him. Perhaps, it was indeed because the boy knew Draco very well, better than he and Narcissa did, or maybe because he felt Harry would understand him and his position better than anybody else could. "I am afraid we have to go, Mr Potter, no time to waste, unfortunately," he chuckled, looking at his pocket watch.

"Yes, sir," Harry readily stood up, clutching his working pad in his hands, which held a stack of documents in it, a magical quill with a never ending ink spelled into its tip and an organizer which had been already full of appointments. They quickly left through the fireplace and apparated from the Ministry's entrance straight to the location of the pitch. Harry couldn't believe how actually easy-going and content he felt in the company of his new boss. He would have never believed Lucius Malfoy could be such a pleasant person, such an ordinary, simple man, who didn't hold back on smiling and laughing with him. If only he didn't have to write the orders for executions, Harry thought bitterly, he could have even _enjoyed_ his new job, very much indeed.


	3. Chapter III

_Disclaimer_: _nothing that is related to HP belongs to me._

_Warning_: _non canonical, AU, M/M slash, explicit language, violence, abuse, M rating for a reason._

* * *

**Resistance.**

**Chapter III**

**The northern winds.**

"_In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice_." _Marquise de Sade_.

Harry tried very hard to hide his astonishment and obvious joy when Mr Malfoy took him to the most expensive, fashionable restaurant at the Diagon Alley. His parents could have never afforded to come here of course, and, to be honest, he himself would have never come here even if he had the money - it was too fancy for him, too aristocratic and snobby. They were met by one of the waitresses, who instantly changed her attitude when she saw who was her guest - this was something that had the tendency to happen to practically everyone Harry had met during his work with his boss. People cringed at the feet of Lucius Malfoy, they ingratiated themselves with him, not only because of his high position and power, but because of the way he bore himself, because of the atmosphere he built around himself. His whole posture screamed dominance, magnificence, money, allure; women lost their heads at the sight of the glorious wizard, men wished to one day be honored to stand next to the famous general. Harry felt foreign and strange amongst them, embarrassed even. The angry, envious glares that were being thrown his way made him gulp involuntarily in discomfort, as if he had been caught redhanded at the scene of a crime. Unnerved, he followed his boss closely, hiding behind his back most of the time, which made the wizard shake his head amusedly and smirk at Harry when nobody saw them.

"Lord Malfoy, sir, your table is ready and waiting for you!" the girl cried excitedly, batting her eyelashes at Lucius and looking at him with adoration and bald lust, making advances rather openly. Harry could only raise his eyebrows in wonder - such behavior wasn't quite acceptable in his opinion. Never the one to be sociable with the opposite sex, he had always had an image of an ideal kind of a girl formed in his mind, the kind that was a complete opposite to the waitress, the kind he had never met but hoped to some day. Though now this wasn't what he should have been thinking about - his life and the lives of his parents were at stake.

"Splendid," Lucius drawled, stretching his lips in one of the many fake charming smiles he had learned to use so masterfully. He gestured with his cane for the girl to lead them and she readily ran forward, shooing everybody else out of their way, turning their entrance into a grandiose royal procession. "Mr Potter, stop hiding behind me. You are not a child and nobody is going to _bite_ you," he murmured, smiling with his eyes only at the shy young man, who was quite elegant even in his insecurity. A natural pureblood lost in the greyness of low life wizards, very much like an expensive blue rose raised amongst simple, boring yellow daises.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry mumbled, when they were seated in a secluded area, right at the tall, wide window looking at the main square, Gringotts bank and the countless tall, crooked rooftops of the distorted houses of the Diagon Alley. "I am not really used to people... Well, throwing themselves at my feet and practically licking my boots, if I may say so." He ducked his head in embarassment, feeling his cheeks burn with red.

"Yes, I thought _so_," Lucius chuckled into his curled palm, looking around impassively. "You will have to grow used to it, however. Do not get me wrong, Mr Potter, I am honestly _impressed_ by your genuine inability to take advantage of me and my influence, of your repugnance for using your position to your own mercantile benefit, but this is the order of our world. You are ought to accept it and learn to use it."

"Do you... Do you enjoy the way they act around you, sir?" Harry asked uncertainly, though very curious to hear the answer. He found he indeed could learn a lot from Malfoy, could get acknowledged with the life he could never have. He was genuinely interested in getting to know his employer.

Smiling, sincerely now, at the wizard's modest curiosity, Lucius leaned his elbows on the table and propped his head on his loosely folded hands. "I can't say I enjoy it, Mr Potter. To be honest with you, I simply _do not care_. I was raised with a notion I will always be treated in such fashion - my blood and my wealth are the guarantee of that. They may worship me and advance on me all they want - they will never get more than a smile in return, I have no wish to gratify their petty ambitions."

"So you think that if they were not born with a noble name and fortune - they do not deserve them?" he couldn't help but wonder.

"No," Lucius shook his head, smiling even broader, mirthfully and pleasantly, for Harry always asked just the right kind of questions. "Those who deserve to be helped and given my attention and time must be wizards and witches of particular talents, with deep and bright personalities, they must intrigue me in one way or another. Like _you_ do, Mr Potter," he raised one of his thin eyebrows elegantly, pointedly looking at the young man. "Most people are rather dull and boring even if they at first seem to be hardworking, ambitious, promising. I hate wasting time and money on those - I get nothing out of it but _disappointment_."

Creasing his brow, Harry pondered over what Malfoy said. His logic wasn't flawless, but it was practical, therefore it could be _useful_. "I never thought I could belong to the category of the intriguing people, as you put it, sir," he offered quietly, stealing careful glances at the older wizard, who was watching him amusedly.

"You seem to be of a very low opinion of yourself, Mr Potter, we will have to change that," Lucius sighed humorously and flicked his fingers for the waitress to serve them. "I believe you would not object if I choose your lunch for you, would you?"

"No, of course not, sir," Harry shook his head gratefully. It would have been most embarrassing for him to read the menu and try to guess what were those french names of courses that sounded more like an abracadabra to him.

"Bring us the usual then and two glasses of white wine, the one I always have here," he drawled, barely looking at the girl, whose eyes were begging him to take her. Pathetic little whore, he thought evilly, wrinkling his nose in disdain. Lucius took only the best, only those who were worth the hard work of seducing. _Harry_ was worth it, he knew. He watched the young man, who was reading his journal and marking something on the margins with an adorable slight frown on his face, that signified his concentration on the task. Admiring him from afar was both pleasing and annoyingly unsatisfying, for Lucius craved more: to touch, to hold, to have. But it was too early for that yet, or had he become so impatient with age? Or, perhaps, it was all Harry's fault, perhaps, he was affecting him stronger than anybody else? Mysteries always turned Lucius on, he loved solving riddles and playing _games_.

A bowl of steaming soup of purple colour was placed before him and Harry stared at it in childish wonder, absentmindedly thinking that to eat food of the brightest, strangest colours was very much like Malfoy. It wouldn't have surprised Harry if the man chose meals to match his clothes.

"It is made of berries, Mr Potter. Try it - I am certain you would find it to your liking," Lucius offered, raising his glass and smirking from behind it cunningly. Harry was so easy to impress, so easy to buy with the simplest things. He knew he wouldn't need to spend money on expensive gifts, jewelry and other rubbish, all he would have to do is to be natural and sincere with the young man, which was an exciting prospect for Lucius, who couldn't remember when was the last time he could relax around another person, could speak freely, didn't have to lie and flatter... It had been so long ago, so long...

"It is very nice," Harry smiled brilliantly, closing his eyes in pleasure and savouring the sweet flavour on his tongue. His blinding smile made Lucius' heart skip its beat, so wonderfully alluring it was - the wizard's beauty was going to cost him many sleepless nights filled with voluptuous fantasies. "Thank you for gifting me with such sweet treats, Mr Malfoy. I don't think I deserve a rich lunch like the one we are having, I am not the one to appreciate its delicacy, I am afraid," Harry sighed over his now empty dish and sipped on the wine, that attacked his senses with warm, sour taste, made his head spin slightly, spreading slowly through his blood, lessening the tension in his muscles.

"Nonsense, Mr Potter," Lucius waved his hand dismissevely, hungrily taking in the slight blush on the other's cheeks - the wine affected Harry strongly, his emerald eyes shone like precious gems, gleaming mischievously and artfully. The sight made Lucius wonder what kind of a person his assistant truly was, what kind of a _demon_ was dormant in his soul - even though he knew how much Draco loved to exaggerate and make up lies about those he didn't like, he knew his son had always had his reasons for it. Lucius was certain that Harry wasn't that easy to read, wasn't as saint as he looked... Oh how he wished to turn him inside out, to get the taste of the man's true nature. A powerful and an intelligent wizard like Harry Potter could become a dangerous opponent or a quite beneficial, reliable comrade - it was Lucius' aim to mold him into the _latter_. "You will learn all about it in no time, believe me. As soon as you will taste the whole palette of the most delicious cuisines available to a man you will know the difference and will easily become an expert, I promise."

Harry straightened up and shook his head a little, trying to banish away the slight dizziness the wine left him in. "May I ask for a favour, sir?"

"Depends on what kind of a favour do you mean, Mr Potter," Lucius gave him a small smile, raising his eyebrows curiously.

"May I use one of your owls to send letters home?" He was supposed to meet James every weekend, but after having spent a week working under Malfoy he had little hope to see his family that often. There was just too much work. And, if he was honest with himself, Harry really had no wish to meet with the Resistance, to recite all of the names he had signed up for an execution or a torture. He desperately tried to distance himself from the most abhorrent part of his job, he didn't need any more patronizing and pitying glances or pats on the shoulders. He didn't want to spy for them anymore, but he couldn't quit working for Malfoy - only through dying, that much was obvious. Harry decided it would be easier to write to his parents to assure them of his well-being.

"Oh, that! Mr Potter, you shouldn't even ask of something that goes without saying! Of course you may use our owls and elves for your personal needs," Lucius laughed quietly, amused by how ridiculously modest the wizard was. A virtue he thought he would never grow used to. "I am sure your parents would be very happy to hear from you, since I can't yet let you visit them due to the amount of work we have to deal with," he sighed theatrically, thinking that he would be checking every letter that Harry would send and receive - it wouldn't hurt to be cautious, besides, he was curious to learn of the man's life, his past, his present, everything that was hidden from him. It was an intrusion into personal space, but such formalities had never once stood in Lucius' way before and he wasn't going to suddenly become a decent politician _now_, of all times, when he had an opportunity to get to know his object of admiration and desire. He could find something he could easily use against Harry later or, on the contrary, in his interests.

"Thank you, sir," Harry smiled gratefully, shyly and averted his eyes, hiding behind his journal again. The way Malfoy reacted to his genuine kindness and good nature was truly perplexing, troubling. At first he thought the wizard was suspecting him, but now he wasn't sure anymore. Now he couldn't help but wonder if the way he was treated was quite typical for an assistant of a high ranking Death Eater or if it was _him alone,_ who was treated particularly well, generously, carefully? He wished he could just ask, but knew it wouldn't be appreciated.

Lucius rolled his eyes, showing how insignificant and pointless Harry's worries were. "Try the dessert, it is especially good in this establishment," he suggested, when the annoying waitress brought the ice-cream of black and blood red colours.

"This is amazing!" Harry breathed out in astonishment, after he tasted a little bit of it - unlike any other kind of an ice-cream he had had in his life before, this particular one tasted like a whole specter of things: berries, flowers, wood, river, algae and citruses. Forgetting where he was, he took a mouthful of both colours and licked on the long spoon slowly, all but purring in pleasure.

"I am glad you find it to your satsifaction," Lucius drawled, barely restraining himself from licking on his own lips in want. The sight of Harry sucking on the spoon so carelessly and seductively made him swallow harshly, as his imagination helpfully offered the visions of the most desirable things these red lips could do to him. Grateful he wore a layered robe today, Lucius crossed his legs, wincing in discomfort. When was the last time he got aroused so strongly in a restaurant? He doubted he had ever experienced erection on public. _There is always a first time for everything,_ the deep, mocking voice of the Dark Lord whispered in his mind. _Indeed_, Lucius had no option but to agree.

**xxx**

"I am afraid you can't see Mr Malfoy today, sir, he is very busy."

Severus Snape watched the raven haired boy politely send an unwanted visitor away, as he stood by Lucius' door and paged through the thick files, looking for specific documents he needed to copy. At first Severus barely recognized him, since he had never seen Potter without his atrocious glasses. But looking at him now he couldn't help but conclude that the annoying brat had very little of James Potter in him, he resembled Lily so strongly, so _obviously_, Severus couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. The young wizard grew taller, broader in shoulders - he still had the small, delicate frame of a Seeker, but didn't look like an underfed child anymore; his hair was longer now, tamed and lay in beautiful short waves around his head, very much like a halo; the boy's bright green eyes stood out against his pale skin and complimented his red lips that were always laughing, bearing the ghost of a soft, hearted smile. If Severus was honest with himself he could admit that beside his black hatred for James Potter there was also a contempt for the boy's attitude, his genuinely good, kind nature, that made Severus loath him so much at school. He simply couldn't stand those who were weaker or worse than him in any way, but were capable of smiling and enjoying life, had no _malice_ inside them, that was surging through _his_ veins like poison.

"Admiring my assisstant, aren't you?" Lucius smirked at his friend and leaned forward to pour more brandy into his glass. They had been sitting in his office for almost an hour already, discussing the latest changes in Hogwart's wards and listening to Harry doing his job outside, telling everybody off and sorting out the latest internal correspondence. "He _is_ quite a sight," he added lazily, crossing his legs and pushing his armchair a little to the side to see the young wizard better through the open door.

"I have had the pleasure of _admiring_ him, as you put it, for seven years and I pray to Circe I wouldn't have to enjoy his company more often than necessary, meaning _never_," Severus sighed, giving the other man one of his most scathing looks. "I still find it hard to grasp the idea that he actually came to work for you. Potter and politics are two most polar, incompatible notions you could find. And why have you even chosen him? For his looks? I see how well he would contrast with your fair, _enthralling_ persona," he drawled acidly, sipping on his drink.

"Oh, Severus, why do you have to be so rude all the time?" Lucius chuckled softly, shaking his head and laughing inwardly at his friend's typical attitude. "He is indeed beautiful, I can't believe you have never told me anything about him. But I chose him because of his talents, which _you_ have praised so highly in your reference, and because of his origins. He might be a half-blood, but he is a Potter nevertheless, his blood is very powerful, if it wasn't for his mother he would have been in the highest position in our society now, betrothed to one of the daughters of Parkinson or Greengrass."

"He has no money," Severus grimaced, finishing his glass and dropping it carelessly onto the rug. If _he_ had married Lily Evans then, he would have been in James Potter's place now, penniless and ridiculed. No, he didn't regret their separation even a little - he wouldn't have been able to bear with a life of a despised half-blood more than he had had to in his youth. He had everything he wanted now and Lily Evans got what she _deserved_.

"It is but a little obstacle for such a promising young man as our Mr Potter," Lucius shrugged his shoulders. "I have already made it clear with him, that the money I am paying are not to be given to his parents. He is far from stupid, Severus, he wants a better life, he wants to achieve something, unlike his father. I can't help but encourage that."

"Since when have you become so _generous_, Lucius?" the headmaster of Hogwarts narrowed his black eyes at the blond wizard. "Careful, my friend, you are losing focus, blinded by his youth and beauty."

"I know you suspect Potters of helping the Resistance, but the boy is perfectly clean and innocent. I have checked everything after my last _fiasco,_" Lucius sighed tiredly, twisting his mouth in displeasure at the memories of the long, painful torture under the Dark Lord's wand - their master rarely forgave mistakes like the one he had let himself make. "He is definitely not polyjuiced and he is not trying to save any of those we prosecute - only one man has escaped arrest since Mr Potter started working for me and he was most insignificant and useless, as it has turned out later."

"He is a _black sheep_, Lucius, I don't trust him," Severus turned to give his friend a dark, warning look. "Ever since he came to Hogwarts he was a _rara avis _amongst gryffindors. He never belonged in their house, always so shy and quiet, practically invisible behind his loud and obnoxious friends. He is canny and too smart for his own good."

"Severus," Lucius snorted into his fist, shaken with a strong bout of laughter, "To listen to you it is as if you were describing _our lord_, in all honesty." He coughed to clear his throat and went on, leaning closer to the other wizard, "I know he is not what he seems, I know there are many hidden talents and sides to his personality I am going to discover sooner or later, but believe me, Severus, he is not as bad as you are trying to make him. It is your anger and envy inside your heart talking, not your rational mind."

"I do not envy _Potter_!" he hissed, affronted.

"You can't fool me," Lucius raised his index finger and waved it into the dark wizard's face, almost hitting him on his long, crooked nose. "You always envied James Potter because of that mudblood. You still _do_. Thank Circe you were intelligent enough not to pursue your childish dream to be the prince of the fairy tale and chose the right path - I can't imagine what would have happened to you were you to marry her!"

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Severus huffed, "You can imagine it perfectly well, stop being the insufferable prat - it doesn't suit you _anymore_." He shifted in his armchair, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself, trying to scare the other man off with his angry scowl, but, unfortunately, Lucius was one of the few who were immune to his unpleasant personality. The brightly smiling wizard simply shook his head and relaxed, sliding down in his seat and stretching out his long legs. "I should legilimize him," Severus offered after a short pause. "It wouldn't hurt to make sure he is actually as perfect as you want him to be. Though I doubt you would be pleased with what I will find in that head of his," he muttered, sending Harry's back a scornful look. Unlike at Hogwarts, here the brat was as hard-working as one could only imagine. He did all Lucius' work for him, and did it fast - who would have thought he could be so ambitious and disciplined?

"No need for such extreme methods yet, Severus," Lucius widened his eyes in feigned terror. "I would resort to Legilimency only when the situation calls for it."

"There are only two masters of Legilimency in Britain, the Dark Lord and I, and none of us is going to indulge you whenever it is to your _fancy_ to check yet another toy of yours," he growled lowly, creasing his brow. How careless Lucius became when he found himself a new victim for his endless love games, it was most ridiculous. "You would once again burn yourself and I will once again say _"I told you so"_. To be honest I am getting rather tired of it."

Lucius wrinkled his nose at the sarcasm that was practically dripping from Severus' words. "Oh, please, spare me. I know, I know and I am telling you there is no need for such extremity."

Just when Severus wanted to add something particularly nasty Harry entered the office, bearing a few files in his hands. "Excuse me, sirs," he bowed his head to both wizards, "Mr Malfoy, I have found all the necessary documents. Would you like to look them through or should I just copy and sign them for you?" He looked impassively between them, keeping his lips stretched in his usual welcoming smile. Harry was most afraid of Snape, for it felt as if the man saw right through him, as if, just like a muggle x-ray machine, he could see all the secrets hidden inside him. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he had to clutch on his files tighter to not show it.

"No, Mr Potter, just copy and sign, if you please," Lucius waved his hand dismissively and smiled at his lovely assisstant.

"Mr Potter, you have changed since our last encounter, _dramatically_, I must say," Severus drawled, narrowing his eyes at the boy, and steepled his fingers before him, pressing the tips of the index fingers against his lips. "May I ask what is the cause of such an unexpected _transformation_?"

"It was you, sir, who inspired me to change," Harry offered, smiling brilliantly, but cringing inwardly under the heavy gaze of cold, onyx eyes, that were practically skinning him. "After we had that short talk I have realized I needed to do something with my useless, worthless life, of which you never forget to _remind_ me whenever you see me..."

Lucius raised his hand just in time to prevent Severus from cursing Harry into oblivion. "Now, now, my friend, you are overreacting!" he couldn't help but laugh, for the young wizard was truly _bold_, like any other gryffindor, to mock somebody as powerful and dangerous as Snape.

"You dare to cover for him," Severus sneered, shaking the man's hand off of his shoulder. "I bet it is rather enjoyable to listen to him mocking me. I wonder if you have already put him down on his knees to deserve such a protection from you!" he bit out angrily and with a last hateful glare at Harry stormed out of the office.

After the door closed behind him with a deafening bang Lucius only shook his head and gestured for Harry to sit down. "Never mind him, Mr Potter, he is always so bitter and unpleasant, however, he is a very good friend..." he trailed off, frowning at the last words thrown at him as a slap on the face. He wondered if Harry noticed them and understood what did they mean exactly. "However, do refrain from mocking him in the future. I can't always _protect_ you from Snape's wrath. And since you are not a student, he wouldn't be taking points or giving detentions, he would be treating you as an adult that you are - he might duel you and _that_ is where your chances are very _low_ even with all these talents of yours," he gave him a pointed look and sat down on the other side of the desk.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry hung his head, "But I wasn't mocking him. What I said was true." What else could he tell Malfoy? Not his real reasons for joining his office, surely.

"Oh, Mr Potter," Lucius sighed, looking at him in amusement and joy, "You will never cease to surprise me!" He gestured for the young man to continue with his work and watched him put the perfect copy of his signature on the bottom of every page. "You should be careful, Mr Potter," he said after he had considered if he should warn the other at all, "Severus Snape is not the one to be messed with. I would not put it past him to attack you when you least expect - he is the essence of everything slytherin in our world. And he is a master of Legilimency - he would not warn you before intruding into your mind and would not be gentle about this."

"_Legilimency?_" Harry raised his head up sharply, feeling his insides freeze in horror. Snape was a master of Legilimency and nobody had ever warned him about that. What were they thinking?! What was the point of coming here and lying and pretending, when his disguise could have been easily blown up by the bloody old bat?!

"I do hope you know what it is," Lucius raised his eyebrows in a mild concern, seeing how pale Harry suddenly turned.

"Y-yes," he breathed out, "I... I simply didn't think there were any masters of this art alive in Britain." It was a pathetic excuse, but he couldn't come up with anything smarter, since his legs and arms went numb and his heart sank right into his gut it seemed.

"There are two masters in Britain: the Dark Lord and headmaster Snape," Lucius explained, speaking nonchalantly, but watching the young man out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps, the boy had suddenly realized that Severus had in fact intruded into his mind before? It would have been quite typical for the snarky man to read some of his _most favourite_ students from time to time. "Albus Dumbledore is also a master of Legilimency, but since he has escaped abroad we would not count him..." Tapping on his lips with his manicured finger, Lucius hummed to himself in thought that he had to improve Harry's knowledge of the current situation in the country, in their ranks. It was imperative his personal assistant knew each and every wizard and their talents and weaknesses - information was the _ultimate weapon_ against anyone in this world and Lucius knew that he could use Harry's bright mind and memory to his own advantage. "I would take you to one of the parties with me, to introduce you to the highest society and to teach you to use your natural talents and gifts to your benefit."

"You are too kind, sir," Harry stared at him in terror. He would definitely fuck his cover up in a company of the whole Death Eater _party_! "I doubt they would want to have a Potter in attendance, though..."

"With such attitude you would never succeed in anything, young man," Lucius chided, raising an imperious eyebrow at the other's insecurity. "They would accept you, because you work for me - my choice is inarguable. Besides, we all know that it is most unfair for a young and bright man as you are, Mr Potter, to suffer for the sins of your father. Your mother's blood is the only _imperfection_ of yours, which could be easily ignored in favour of your most impressive persona," he added, smiling slyly and involuntarily lowering his eyelashes, watching Harry lustfully.

"Y-you overestimate m-me, sir," Harry mumbled, tugging on the tight collar of his shirt in discomfort and blushing fiercely in embarassment. He might have been completely inexperienced in the field of love and romance, sex, but he wasn't that thick to miss the hunger, that was all but burning in the pale grey eyes of his boss, who kept looking at him in such a provocative fashion... It had been more than two weeks already, since he started working for Malfoy and he couldn't help but feel anxious every time the wizard did something for him. His generosity seemed hardly believable, yet it was very much real, Harry knew he wasn't dreaming. The longer he stayed with Malfoy, the more gratifying, attentive, the kinder the man became. The thought that the impeccable, beautiful and dangerous wizard was flirting with him made Harry laugh nervously on the inside. _Impossible!_

"_Do I?_" Lucius leaned forward and slowly pulled the parchment out of the young wizard's shaking hands, barely holding down the quivering corners of his thin lips. "I pray differently. I think everyone has been underestimating you for your whole life, Mr Potter... Why did you let them do that - is a different matter altogether, though I am very interested to know your reasons... You would not fool _me_, my dear," he finally smiled, cruelly, and one of his fingers stroked Harry's cold hand, seemingly by an accident. "I see your potential and I intend to use it to its full extent."

Perhaps, he was being tested after all? The complements he had been graced with sounded more like threats to Harry and he held his breath, lost, uncertain what was he supposed to say and do in a situation he found himself in. Running wasn't an option, was it?

**xxx**

Brushing his fingers lovingly over the old, tattered spines Harry slowly walked past the endless shelves, crammed with countless books, almanacs and scrolls. Malfoy's library was enormous, he was certain he could find absolutely anything here, even muggle literature. Though it wasn't what he was looking for now - he needed to learn Occlumency and fast. What other choice did he have, really? He had seen most of the young members of the Resistance, he knew their names, his father and godfather were amongst them - should he be tortured or legilimized this would be the end of the opposing party and of his family. Shuddering at the thought that his mother would be executed because of _his_ _failure_ he turned to the right and faced one of the tall cases that housed the scientific literature. Harry took a small book of magical fairy tales out of his pocket - the one Lily used to read to him so often when he was little - he had prepared it for one smart spell he created in his last year at the school. The text of the Occlumency manual was going to be hidden inside a child's book, spelled to be visible only at the password being said. It was most useful during the History of Magic lessons at Hogwarts, which Harry always found lethally boring, and since he had been once caught reading a novel right under the teacher's nose, he had to come up with a spell to save his own time and nerves.

"Can't sleep, Mr Potter?" Narcissa's weak voice made Harry jerk in fear and he grabbed on the nearest tome he could reach. "Trying to lull yourself into Morpheus' embrace by reading... _the Philosophy of Potions_?" she asked sarcastically, coming closer and holding her wand over him to see better in the thick darkness of the library. Faint light painted her pale skin an unhealthy grey colour and Harry couldn't help but think that she looked like a zombie from one of the muggle horror films that Sirius loved to take him to during summer holidays.

"Y-yes, madame," he swallowed nervously, having had barely taken a look at the cover, frantically squeezing the book in his hands, grateful he managed to hide the fairy tales back into his robes.

"You navigate really well in complete darkness, Draco was right," Narcissa sighed somewhat humorously and smoothed the invisible wrinkles on her night robe. "Perhaps, Lucius should give you more work to help you fight that insomnia of yours, Mr Potter, which is rather _untypical_ for a healthy young man of your age."

He wanted to make an acid remark that, perhaps, it was his _work_ that kept him awake at nights, but bit on his tongue, knowing too well that one wrong word or glance could cost him his life. Unlike Lucius, Narcissa was weary of him and never missed a chance to let him know how _highly_ she thought of him. Her every gesture and sigh showed just how insignificant, useless and disgusting Harry was in her eyes, how dangerous, as if he was some kind of infection, a _plague_ walking around the manor.

"I thought I might find a solution here," he said quietly, holding the book up in front of her, looking down respectfully, though for Harry it felt like _submission_ and he hated how nauseating the sensation was. He never thought he would be forced to submit to such an unpleasant woman like Lady Malfoy.

"Hmm, perhaps," she drawled tiredly and turned around to leave, "Next time choose a more appropriate hour to visit our library, Mr Potter."

Holding his breath and clutching the book close to his chest, Harry watched her thin, almost opaque, ghostly form dissipate into the darkness of the night. It took him five more minutes to finally relax a little and breathe. If Narcissa was going to watch him so closely he would no doubt blow his cover. Turning on his shaking legs he moved towards the shelf with the works on Mind Magic that were kept on it. Harry lighted up his wand and checked the aisles around him - nobody was here to see him commit his _crime_.

"Alright, here we go," he breathed out shakily and took the first thick tome that bore withered golden letters on its spine 'The Art of Occlumency'. Harry paged through, quickly scanning the text, for there was no index - it looked a lot like a theory of the art in general, not the manual how to actually protect one's mind. Huffing impatiently to himself he put it back and reached for another one - he had no time to waste reading useless rubbish.

It was the thin green book that caught his eye - it had no writings on it, looked old and used, but inside Harry found exactly what he had been looking for for the past half an hour. Strangely enough it was handwritten and looked more like a personal journal with a tutorial left for close friends or relatives - though Harry found no signatures and no names, it felt very familiar, easy to read and understand. The spidery handwriting suggested it was written by a man, language and particular words suggested the author was barely older than Harry, when he made it, but the condition of the paper and cover showed that he lived at least in the 1940s. Intrigued and relieved that he had finally found something useful Harry took his book of fairy tales and placed it opened next to the journal.

"This should work," he whispered hopefully and pointed his wand at the green book, murmuring the long incantation. It was a true wonder how easily the formulas of the spells came to his mind, how naturally he was able to perform them from the first try, as if his magic was the very _air_ he breathed - perhaps, it was. The long, thin writings slowly floated into his red book of fairy tales, pushing the printed text to the side and nestling neatly between the paragraphs, and slowly dried out and disappeared into the greyness of the paper. Page by page he copied the text and locked it inside his book, looking around fearfully and waiting for somebody to jump at him from behind and catch him redhanded... But nobody came. Heaving a sigh of hysterical relief Harry put the journal back and spelled the dust to cover it just like it used to. He took the potions tome and hurried to leave. Now the most difficult part was left - to learn to occlude his mind as soon as possible.

Safe in his room, he locked the door, climbed onto his bed and hid himself behind the thick, heavy covers, careful to conceal his reading from the painting, that was looking straight at him. He never saw anybody entering the landscape, but often sensed that he was being watched - that was more than enough to be cautious and stay alerted all the time. "_The red riding hood,_" Harry said quietly to the red book in his hands and the handwriting showed through the printed text.

_"It is truly amusing how little is actually known to wizards about Occlumency and Legilimency, practically nothing. I have spent months researching the many different useless books, that circulate around the subject but never delve into it enough to give the actual knowledge, to teach the skill. I am starting this journal to keep the record of my experiments and progress in the matter. Certainly, I will master the art of both sciences, of that I have little doubts, though I hate to imagine how much time I will waste in order to achieve my goal, blindly walking in the darkness of others' ignorance of the subject..." _Harry could only roll his eyes in exasperation at the author's haughty, overconfident tone - perhaps, this wizard was one of Malfoys? He seemed to have all of the family's traits that made them stand out so obviously.

...

_"The basic difference between Legilimency and Occlumency is that the former requires a spell to be casted and a willing to invade other's mind, while the latter has no spelling, practically no magical foundation to it and depends on one's power and strength of will only. Because of that I have decided to start with Legilimency first, to learn to read other's minds and secrets and to find out what exactly does it feel like to experience the foreign presence in one's head - once I know all the details it would be easier to create the mind shields. One can't build walls without bricks: data is what I need."_

...

_"A. described my presence as a foul, despicable essence, wandering around his thoughts - can't help but accept this as a compliment."_ Harry chuckled, smiling lightly at the author's words. He found he liked him and his dark sense of humor and was intrigued to follow his progress, grateful that he had found this journal, which was surely going to make his own struggle with the mind shields much easier._ "Delving into his mind was an indescribable experience. There are hardly any words to express how elating and satisfying is the sensation of turning the other inside out, of invading his most intimate and treasured possession - his imagination. Memories were not that interesting, to be fair, they did remind me of dreams. However, A.'s fantasies were a completely different matter altogether. But I would concentrate on that later."_

_"It took me almost three hours to enter his mind and right now I am writing on the verge of my strength, completely exhausted and drained, both physically and magically. The experience is quite painful for the both participants, my migraine is the lesser of all the possible aftereffects - A. has been retching for almost an hour, said it felt as if he had spent a week in the sea on a boat without his wand and drinking water. Apart from the will to enter the mind of a person a wizard has to possess great powers, for it is his magic that is breaking through the invisible barrier of time and... Soul? It is unknown what exactly do I have to trespass in order to read the thoughts and see the lies, but it demands a lot of self-discipline. I found the source of the necessary strength to bring on the last victorious blow in the desire to hurt A. It is indeed quite typical for the darkest of magical arts to be based on the most hurtful, animalistic emotions, although Legilimency is neither dark, nor light. This science is indifferent, like the magic itself - it is the intent only, that puts it on the either side of the morality, if I may say so."_

...

_"W. described my intrusion into her mind almost identically to A. It had affected her even worse and she had to be taken into the Hospital Wing afterwards. Unfortunately I still don't know how to control my power, which is great and therefore is hard to manipulate yet - experience and complete harmony with my magic would come only with age, as much as it galls me to admit it."_ A Hospital Wing, a young age... Harry raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise - the author who had written the journal was even younger then him, was still at Hogwarts, when he attempted to learn Occlumency! He must have been very powerful. Curiously Harry thought if the man was still alive and if he was, was there a chance he would one day meet him? Had he met him already, perhaps? Intrigued, he hurried to read further. _"It would be troublesome to learn Occlumency when there is nobody to intrude into my mind and actually make me want to defend my thoughts, however, I am certain I will manage fine without it."_ I hope I will too, Harry sighed inwardly. There was nobody he could ask for help either. Snape? When he was ready to die, he would surely turn to the man...

...

_"The books suggest one should relax and enter his own consciousness in order to learn to shield his mind, one of the modern texts mentioned 'meditation' as a form of relaxation. It took me almost a week to reach for my consciousness and magical core, but as soon as I have managed it I started feeling and thinking differently. It takes some time to get accustomed to the odd sensation of being able to practically touch my own thoughts and wield my magic like never before. I still have little understanding of the process of shielding, but as far as I know I have made great progress. Meditation should be performed every night for a couple of hours before going to sleep. Muscle relaxation potion helped immensely, since it is quite impossible to get rid of the tension in my neck and back after long hours of studying, writing, playing quidditch and dueling. Clearing one's mind - a phrase that could be found in any Occlumency text and is supposed to cover the whole principle of the art itself - is a process of gradually ceasing thinking and acknowledging one's surroundings. Slowly falling into myself, listening to the sound of my heartbeat, gently feeling for the faint pulse underneath the blood rushing through my veins - the pulse of my magic. As soon as I grasp it, like the golden thread that helped Theseus to escape the labyrinth of the minotaur, I pull on it and follow its lead into the deeper darkness than there is in the shadows against the light of the sun..._"

Mesmerized, Harry read, hungrily catching every word. The explanation seemed brilliant to him, the pulse the author spoke of was exactly _what_ he had sensed so many times when he worked on the spells and curses during his last years at Hogwarts - he knew what he had to be looking for, everything was so clear to him. How was it possible that only one man,_ a boy_, was able to analyze all the useless material he could find and turn it into the most comprehensible manual Harry had ever read?

He smiled when he noticed a marking on the margins. _"You are truly thick, aren't you? Your wandless magic should have given you the hint where to look for the source of your power and how to control it. Occlumency is a wandless magic of your mind."_ Harry laughed, shaking his head in amusement at the author's self-berating - it felt as if he was having a conversation with the boy from another time. And this mysterious boy was indeed right - wandless magic that Harry had been practicing for so long was giving him the strongest sensation of feeling his magic inside him, his core... If only every subject was explained so clearly and easily, so well at Hogwarts!

"You were truly brilliant, weren't you?" he whispered to the journal, watching it with admiration, caressing its old, tattered pages. It looked used, as if the author had been addressing it many times later in the course of his life. Intrigued, Harry opened the last pages - they were filled with long, intricate formulas and diagrams, that had clearly no relation to the art of Occlumency. These were _spells_. Handcrafted spells and curses, some so dark and cruel, that Harry felt goosebumps cover his legs and arms. The author was one of the darkest warlocks, he had no doubt of that now. Letting out a shuddering breath, he closed the book and put it on the other side of the bed, looking at it in fear and rapture. This man was either one of Malfoys' predecessors or one of the Dark Lord's generals - if he was alive, that is. Lucius said there were only two masters of Legilimency alive in Britain and none of them could have fit the image of the man that Harry had formed in his mind. The fact that the journal, which turned out to be a personal spellbook, had been collecting dust on the shelves of Malfoy's library made Harry come to a conclusion that it had been either forgotten here or nobody had even known of its existence. How odd it was that he had to be _the one_ to find it...

Harry sighed and lay down, wrapping himself tightly into the sheets. He probably wouldn't manage to even relax tonight, since he had only a couple of hours left for sleep, but he decided to give it a try anyway. He stared into the hearth, watching the weak flame dance unsteadily, throwing a faint light onto the dark wooden floor. "_Incendio_," he whispered quietly, creasing his brow slightly in concentration - the fire roared to life, cracking loudly, sending shower of sparkles onto the rug. And there it was, a weak _pulse_ underneath Harry's skin, a slight itching under his fingernails. Moaning tiredly and brushing the bids of sweat off of his forehead he closed his eyes and tried to relax as much as he could. Such difficult spells still came hard to him without a wand, they called for a much more energetic, stronger condition than he was in now. He searched for the _golden thread_, but his mind was filled with so many different images, it was impossible to concentrate on anything at all.

Weren't those dark curses he found in the journal the ones his father had told him about? The ones that were prohibited along with the Unforgivables and were not used even today, even under the Dark regime? He thought he should have felt like a criminal, holding the source of the banned spells in his hands - nobody knew their creator, the curses came from the Death Eaters and that was all that was known about them - but he didn't. Harry felt... _curious and excited_. Was it due to the diversity of their education at school, or was it simply due to his own nature, but he always found himself being pulled towards the dark magic, it intrigued him. Ever since he came to Hogwarts and discovered the other side to magic he thought he _changed_. Perhaps, this was the reason why Lily grew suddenly cold and distant towards him? But Harry never crossed the lines, always keeping himself confined to the necessary minimum that was taught - he knew the price of falling for the dark power, Sirius had scared him so many times with his bedtime stories of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was a fine example of what the darkness could do to a human being. Although his godfather made it all look like her hunger for pleasure of killing and destroying had driven her insane, Harry seriously doubted that the Head of the Torturing Division in Voldemort's government was just a woman who had one day lost her mind. He was certain she was born mad, and that was the only _reason_ she got that position at all.

Sighing, Harry rolled on his other side and opened his eyes only to see the journal lying innocently next to him, the red cover of the fairy tale book barely visible in the darkness under the canopy of his bed. He knew when to stop, he knew the difference between sense and lust, he had never been seduced by the darkness in his life, nor was he now. But the person that had created these illegal spells seemed to be so brilliant, so knowledgable, so _interesting_, he couldn't help but admire him and felt compelled to share his gift - this was what this journal could be. A gift to the next generation of dark wizards. _A gift to Harry_. He snorted skeptically and pushed the annoying book under his pillow. He wasn't a dark wizard, though he doubted he was light either, not after practicing dark curses so much at the school. After all, he thought, rubbing on his face exhaustedly and yawning, there is truly no difference between light and dark. It is all the _intent_ that makes the difference. Harry never wanted to kill or torture, never found any satisfaction in hurting others - he was safe from the allure of the greater power, of the _tainted pleasure_. Why couldn't he be interested in the scientific side of the matter? He was a spellcrafter after all, there was no difference to him what use his spells could have - all he wished was to create them, to stretch the boundaries of what was set as a stone hard truth and limit of his possibilities. It wasn't the Dark or the Light that could help him overcome the confinements and become a true master of the spellcrafting, but his own will and courage.

**xxx**

A nervous and sleepless week later at an early Friday dinner at Malfoy Manor Lucius announced that Harry had earned himself a free weekend, since he had been working so hard for more than a month already and since Lucius and Narcissa were leaving to visit their relatives abroad. Draco, who had been mostly absent during Harry's stay with Malfoys, made a nasty remark about the filth going back where it belonged, but Harry ignored him as always, smiling gratefully at his boss and pointedly avoiding to look at Narcissa. Her hostility seemed to worsen day by day, even Draco, being the insufferable brat and an elementary bastard that he was, didn't behave as _negatively_ towards Harry, as did his mother. The obnoxious blonde was simply a spoilt child - bearing with him was an old game to Harry, the one he was never going to tire of. But Narcissa was a completely different matter altogether. Harry couldn't help but think she was _jealous_ of him, jealous that Lucius spent so much time with him and even in the evenings the wizard preferred to have his tea in the study, sitting opposite his assistant and watching him work, rather than gossiping with his wife.

However, he left with a heavy heart, for he knew he would be forced to meet with the opposition. They were certainly displeased with his silence, but Harry was simply too frightened and too unwilling to risk his life and his ambiguous position. He _regretted_ his decision terribly, yet the desire to help Lily helped him go on, helped him hold on... And, reluctantly, he had to admit to himself he liked working for Malfoy, he liked working _with him,_ he enjoyed all the fruits of leading a rich, luxurious life, he appreciated everything he was taught by the haughty but at the same time wise and intelligent, interesting wizard. Yes, Lucius _interested_ him, even though Harry felt very uncomfortable under the man's sometimes baldly lustful stares, he still enjoyed his company and his wit. If only he was in a different position he could have said that Lucius became his friend, a mentor certainly, but also a _friend_.

"Harry, finally!" James grabbed on him, as soon as Harry apparated into the living room of their small cottage in Godric's Hollow, and squeezed him painfully in his heated embrace. "I thought that witch would never let you come home again!"

"It's fine, fine, dad, don't break my spine! I'm glad to see you too," Harry couldn't help but laugh at his old man's antics and circled his arms around his father's broad back, smiling into one of his red gryffindor sweaters, that Molly Weasley had been knitting for them every year. It smelt of sweat and food, as all of James' clothes did no matter how often Lily washed them.

"Look at you, you are dressed so fancily and... Harry, are they feeding you at all? You are even thinner than you used to be!" James felt for his arms and shoulders, sounding too cheerful for Harry's taste. It was obvious that he was nervous.

"I eat very well, I just have to work a lot and don't get enough sleep, stop fussing over me like some mother hen," he pushed the man playfully away and turned just in time to see Lily come into the room with her reddened hands covered by the towel. It seemed that she had been doing nothing but cleaning and washing up all this time.

"Mom!" He jumped up to her and enveloped her into a tight embrace before she could move away from him, like she had been doing for the past five years. Lily froze in his hold, standing hard as a rock, with her head tucked under his chin rather awkwardly, but then slowly her arms circled his waist and an idiotic grin stretched Harry's face as he buried it in her red hair. "I missed you so much," he whispered and pressed her even closer to his chest, barely holding back the tears of joy, that threatened to escape his eyes. He couldn't remember when was the last time they held each other. How ridiculously horrible was _that_?

"I..." Lily mumbled incomprehensibly into his robe, "I thought you would die there... I didn't believe James when he said you would come home..." She looked up into his emerald eyes, identical to her own, and sobbed quietly, "Please, Harry, you don't have to do this for me. I'm _not worthy_ of such a sacrifice!" Her hands grabbed on his clothes, fisting into them, as if she was afraid to let him go. "They would either kill you or taint you _further_, they will turn you into one of their own... Don't, please, this is not what we have been fighting for!"

Harry only sighed and pressed his lips against her cold, sweated forehead, frowning at the notion that his mother thought him to be tainted. What else was she thinking of him? "Forgive me, mom. But it is _too late_ to turn back. I can't leave."

"You seem to actually like it there, pup." He hadn't heard Sirius appear in the room and turned his head to look at his godfather, who stood next to James with his arms crossed over his chest. "Look at you, all pampered up like a prince. Malfoy has never spent so much money on his assistant's outfits. You really got to him, didn't you?" Sirius smiled broadly, though his grey eyes remained unusually cold and hard.

"Harry, I hate to take you away after you have just arrived, but we need you to tell the Resistance everything you know, you have been silent for far too long and we really need something," his father rubbed on Harry's shoulder, looking at him apologetically.

There was no escaping it, he knew. "Fine. Let's get on with it then." With a last longing look at his mother, who seemed to have drawn back into her shell again, Harry took James and Sirius by their arms and let them apparate him to an unknown location.

It was some dusty old wine cellar somewhere in London, as he concluded by the sound of the underground somewhere on his left. Low lamps threw little light on the surroundings and he could barely make out dark silhouettes of the many wizards and witches standing and sitting next to the black barrels and boxes. There were much more people than the last time and Harry rubbed his sweated hands on his silk green shirt, breathing deeply as his blood pressure increased and made him sway on his feet. Sirius' strong hand pushed on his shoulder and helped him sit down onto the nearest iron chair that felt particularly hard and cold after Malfoy's puffy, comfortable armchairs.

"Long time no see, Harry," Ron greeted him from the other side of the table Harry was seated at. "I have been asking after you at the Ministry - you never seem to be there. Just what the hell are you doing at this job of yours?" He sounded livid and Harry wished he could punch him in the face but felt too weak to even raise his eyes and glare at his once best friend. No, there could be no warm feelings between them anymore. Without Hermione and with Harry being on the other side there was _nothing_ for them to hold on to. Everything about Ron irritated him now.

"I actually work. A lot." He rubbed on his face tiredly and leaned his elbows on the wooden surface, watching its pattern that reminded him of his life so much - crooked and scarred, _unbalanced_.

"Why haven't you contacted any of us for so long, all that James got from you were two letters to home and nothing else? We even checked them for hidden messages but they came out clean." Sirius sat down beside him and stared at him with this disappointed, accusing glare of his, that made him look so childish and idiotic, that Harry had to cover his mouth to not let a nervous smile show on his face.

"Because I have a problem."

"What problem?" James stepped closer, watching him worriedly. Harry couldn't see others' faces hidden in the shadows of the cellar. The irony made him smile anyway, but this time he decided there was no point in hiding it.

"_Legilimency_. Nobody has warned me that Snape is a master of Legilimency."

James swore loudly and hid his face in his hands in surrender and desperation, while Sirius gave Harry a dumb look. "So, even if he is, what does it have to do with you? He is the headmaster of the school, he doesn't have time to socialize with you."

"He does and he is out to get me because he hates my guts. Because _somebody_," he looked at his godfather pointedly, "Made his life at Hogwarts a burning Hell and now he desires vengance! Malfoy warned me about this, not you!"

"Why would Malfoy warn you of anything?" Somebody barked from behind and Harry briefly thought it must have been Moody.

"Because he has saved me from Snape once already and he told me to watch my back, because even he can't protect me against the old bat! This is the problem! How can I come here, when all he has to do is to get into my head and see you all, find out everything?" At these words the whole crowd came to life suddenly, whispering feverishly between themselves and somebody hastily turned off the lights, leaving only one lamp to burn above Harry's head. "Yeah, that's right, _this_ would no doubt help," he sneered sarcastically and looked away, barely hiding his rage. How unorganized and naive they were! No wonder the Dark Lord had won!

"How are you going to... Do you have any idea what to do?" James stared at him helplessly, dropping his body onto the nearest chair. Harry had never seen his father looking so pale and scared before. "The border is closed and we don't have the resources to help you cross it now, it demands a lot of powerful wizards and artifacts to breach the wards they have put up and it is a suicidal mission anyway..." he trailed off, horrified, staring unseeingly into the darkness around his son, as if dementors were already stretching their long, clawed hands towards Harry's throat.

"I am studying Occlumency," he gritted through his teeth, reluctant to tell them his secret, but feeling there was no other way out of this mess.

"_You_," Sirius confirmed, looking at him in surprise and disbelief. "You are learning Occlumency? Just like _that_? None of us could master it and you are simply studying it right under Malfoy's long nose?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "Do I have any other alternatives?"

"But only very powerful warlocks like Dumbledore and the Dark Lord could master it. And Snape," Ron leaned closer, moving into the light and looking at Harry with wide, pale blue eyes. "You may study it all you want, you won't get it! It's so complicated!"

Harry looked down at his hands, that were folded in his lap, feeling uncomfortable and so tired. What, was he going to tell them about the mysterious journal that helped him to not only reach for his core and consciousness but already start building walls in just a week? That he hadn't been sleeping during the nights, but smoking the special weed the author had added into the list of the drugs that could help him delve even further into his own mind? That as Malfoy's assistant he could easily come to the Knockturn Alley's apothecary and buy this illegal drug without any problem? No, of course he wasn't going to share all this with them, it was enough they knew he was _trying_.

"Is it... Is it really working?" His father breathed out, staring at him in wonder and astonishment, having have guessed by Harry's posture what was on his mind. "Are you really making progress?"

"Perhaps," he shrugged his shoulders again, avoiding to meet anybody's gaze.

"That's my boy!" Sirius patted him on the shoulder proudly, smiling sincerely now, with the warm admiration in his eyes. Harry noticed absentmindedly that they were very much like Lucius', just as grey and looked just as kindly... Too kindly, he had realized it now. _Appreciatively_. He wasn't a child anymore and Sirius' look wasn't as playful and condescending as it used to be - it was _accessing_. Was Black too finding him handsome? Harry swallowed harshly and ducked his head, wishing the earth could swallow him up. "Now all we have to do is to find a way for you to pass the information on to us! With your progressing in Occlumency there soon would be no danger for you at all!" his godfather exclaimed, turning to look at everyone, who seemed to be holding their breaths.

"I can't send you the names of the prosecuted wizards," Harry shook his head, imperceptibly moving his chair a little to the side, away from Sirius. It was one thing to bear with the sly, lustful looks of Lucius Malfoy, who, Harry had to admit, was a truly attractive man, whose attention _wasn't_ all that unpleasant to him, if he was honest with himself, while it was a completely different thing altogether to be lusted after by his own godfather, who was his _family_. The mere thought made his stomach churn.

"Why?" Ron raised his eyebrows, looking at him dumbly.

"He is constantly testing me, that's _why_," he couldn't help but sneer. "He is checking every man whose name gets into my hands, he is watching me when I write the orders for execution or torture, he is asking me if I know them or how I feel about them being imprisoned. He reads all the letters I exchange, he is very careful with everything I get to touch and read, there is no way I am telling you any of the names. It will be the end of me and my family the very instant he sees something."

"What, even if your father was on the list, you would still keep silent?" Moody barked out of the darkness again and his question made Harry glare at the black shadows around him defiantly, angrily.

"I wonder what would have any of _you_ done, were you in _my place_? I don't know what would I do if I see dad's name there, I can't say, I pray I would never see it there... Don't you understand?!" he slammed his fist against the table suddenly, in a bout of rage, making everybody jerk and gasp in surprise and fear, for the air around him started to vibrate slightly. "Don't you understand that I am writing death certificates for _you_ every day? I can't save everyone! I have sent to prison half of my year at Hogwarts, I have signed an order to torture somebody's mother for Malfoy because he was too lazy to do it on his own, I don't fucking know what would I do when I see Potter or Black or Weasley on the list?! Perhpas, I would do nothing! I can't bear the mere thought that I have to bury people I know almost every day..." Harry dropped his head on his hands, shaking in anger, curling his fingers tightly into fists, feeling the blood run under his fingernails. "You have sent me to _Hell_, you have sent me to the very Death's door, do not expect me to play a hero for you and give up my life so easily, so carelessly." He straightened up sharply and looked at his father gravely, suddenly void of any compassion towards the man. "I am doing this for my mother, who has so stupidly thrown her life away for my sake. I am _paying her back_ in any way I can."

He wanted to stand up and leave, but Sirius stopped him by holding him on his upper arm. "Harry, we all understand what kind of a sacrifice you had to make, and we all appreciate it. Please, _don't_. Don't do this to us and to yourself now. We need you there, you can still help. Can you give us the information about the recruiting and military bases?"

Nodding his head, Harry slumped back in his chair and took out his wand to transfigure an old handkerchief into a piece of parchment. "I don't know how can I help, when I live with Malfoy who is Voldemort's right hand and who would no doubt execute me the second I open my mouth," he muttered, as he quickly scribbled down all the information that he had collected and put safely away in his mind. The wonderful journal helped not only to reach for his core and start learning Occlumency but to also change his way of thinking, just like the author had described it. He was storing the information differently, accessing it very much like the books in the library, having an alphabetical order in his head, while keeping his mind clear almost all the time. He was able to remember more and faster, _better_. His magic had changed as well, he could now feel it surging through his veins along with his blood. He become more _powerful_, he could wield the force that had been dormant inside him more freely now. The drugs that he took had worked so well, he couldn't believe it all was so easy. It was to him, though, while his mysterious, unknown tutor had had to spend months to actually learn Occlumency and years to develop it and master it to its full extent.

"Do not lie to yourself, Harry," Sirius said softly, gaining his attention once again, as James passed the parchment around the group. "I know how strongly you affect Malfoy, how differently he acts towards you - you can _influence_ him. He likes you and I'm sure he is going to recruit you later, he sees your potential and wants to use you. Let him, in exchange for some priveleges, indulgences if you want."

"If we had the boy in their ranks this could be very beneficial to us, he could help inculcate more moles in the future, could pass on the information more freely, since all of them Death Eaters would be under suspicion," Moody rumbled, as he finally limped to stand in the dim light of a lonely lamp and focused his magical eye on Harry's form. "But he doesn't look very _enthusiastic_ to help us," he noted acidly, smacking his twisted, cut lips.

"You want me to serve the Dark Lord now," Harry laughed bitterly, looking at his father with an odd resignation in his heart. He should have foreseen this.

James rubbed on his face in devastation, giving his son a pleading look, full of regret and hurt, but his voice never betrayed his true emotions. "You said yourself there is no going back. There isn't, not for our family anyway," he said hoarsely but firmly and folded his hands on the table before himself, twisting his fingers harshly, making the knuckles turn white under the tension.

"I can always reject his offer. I am a light wizard, they have little use for me in their ranks." Serving the Dark Lord, bearing the Dark Mark and all for the sake of his mother, who would grow old and white in the hair when and _if_ the Resistance achieves anything. It would have been so much easier if he could just send her abroad, but as a muggleborn she was prohibited to even look at the border, let alone trespass it. Hermione was the last one who had managed to cross before the new wards were put up. They all were surrounded, living in a _cage_ like animals. Though those who were graced with better blood and who did not oppose the Dark regime lived very well and traveled around the world all they wanted... Once again Harry was asking himself if he would have ever agreed to this were his mother at least a half-blood? Most certainly not, for they would have lived a much better life then.

"This is your decision, we are not going to force you, since it is your life and your body that would be marked and bound to the will of another man," James said quietly, not looking at Harry. "But please consider this. You have gone so far already..."

"I am already a slave but at least to a man who cares for my well being and even protects me," Harry twisted his lips in an unkind smile, thinking that Lucius was indeed a very good employer, a good person even. A murderer, a dirty politician, but a father as well, a husband, a mentor, a friend... How far had he really gone in this if he felt more comfortable around _Malfoy_, than around his own _father_? "I have no wish to enslave myself to a megalomaniac psychopath, who takes pleasure in torturing and killing others for his own entertainment."

"What, doesn't Malfoy enjoy it?" Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in skepticism.

"No, he doesn't. He never kills, never tortures unless he is ordered to. He hates it, I often hear him complaining about the unnecessary cruelty and senseless violence." Lucius didn't look particularly happy with his job as a whole, but he wasn't going to tell them _that_. It was Lucius' business, not theirs, and had nothing to do with their mission.

"Maybe he's also showering you with flowers and stuffs the vanilla marshmallows into the Dark Lord's mouth?" Ron just couldn't let go.

Harry fought the desire to say _yes_, but simply sighed in exasperation and stood up. "I see no point in continuing this conversation any longer. I have written down everything I can give away without drawing suspicions at myself. I will be leaving parchments like that in Auror's office at dad's or Sirius' desks. Don't bring me to your meetings anymore, I am studying Occlumency but I haven't mastered it yet and I have no idea how much time would it take." He turned to leave when his father's hand circled his wrist and he felt the nauseating pull of apparition.

As soon as they have arrived home again Harry snatched his hand out of James' hold and threw himself onto the old, sunken sofa, pointedly ignoring his father, who stood helplessly in the middle of the room not knowing what to do with himself.**  
**

"Harry, your powers have grown. What happened?" He heard his father finally sit down and address him quietly.

"It is the consequence of learning Occlumency, I can't help it." Even if he could he wouldn't have. Growing powers meant safety and self-protection - and this was all he could think of now.

"_You_ have changed," James noted somewhat sadly and his tone made Harry look at him in disbelief.

"Have you honestly expected me to stay the innocent, naive boy I once used to be at a job like that? And now you want me to take the Mark and not only write the orders for torture but _perform_ them with my own hands!" He threw his arms in the air to make his point and shook his head in exasperation. He wanted to come home so much but now he wasn't sure he wanted to stay any longer. Everything, everybody was against him. He was all alone in the dark.

"Don't tell Lily any of this, not yet," his father whispered miserably and Harry huffed in agreement, twisting his face in a sour grimace. What a truly wonderful home coming indeed.

******xxx**

It was very much like Narcissa to start a fight over nothing. Sighing tiredly, Lucius kept nodding his head in agreement to her loud complaints - when she wanted to she could be rather vocal on the matter and sounded more like a _banshee_ than a respectable lady of the prominent and ancient family. Why was it his problem now that her mother lost her money, which she had so carelessly invested into an unauthorized business? Why was _he_ supposed to compensate? Ever since they came back from Switzerland to Malfoy Manor Narcissa kept whining and throwing hysterics about this. Massaging his temples and feeling the migraine slowly building up in his head he lowered himself into an armchair and stared at his wife helplessly, inwardly begging her to shut up and never speak again.

"Master Malfoy, there is guest in hall for you," Dobby suddenly chirped in, peeking fearfully from behind the slightly opened door into their room.

"Find Harry - he will deal with it. And see the guest to the tea parlour," Lucius drawled, waving his hand weakly, exhausted and secretly grateful for an unexpected visitor, however, he knew he had to let Narcissa finish her tirade, to let her pour all her shit out, otherwise he would never hear the end of it. And he was indeed _done_ with this. "I will be down in ten minutes."

Quickly jumping over two steps at a time on his way down the stairs to see to the visitor Harry suddenly realized that he was _excited_ to meet another Death Eater, since he hadn't had yet seen any of Malfoy's brothers in arms, only ministry collegues. What if it would be the mysterious author of the journal? It was his wishful thinking, of course, but nothing was impossible in their world. However, if it was Snape then Harry was in trouble. Hiding his trembling hands behind his back and swallowing harshly he hesitantly entered the parlour, trying very hard not to show his fright and agitation. A tall, thin figure draped in a heavy black cloak stood at the window, impatiently tapping a foot on the wooden floor. The stranger's head was hidden behind a deep hood, however, Harry was certain it was a man, judging by his great hight and broad shoulders.

"Sir?" He coughed softly and stepped into the room. It was definitely not Snape, which was promising.

"Who are you?" the visitor hissed and turned around sharply, glaring at Harry with his black, cold eyes, that seemed to be even darker than the old bat's, darker than the night itself, darker than the black shadow of the hood that covered his face.

Cringing slightly at the harsh sounds, that reminded him of a rattling snake, Harry bowed lowly. "Harry Potter, sir, Mr Malfoy's personal assisstant. He is busy at the moment and it is my duty to welcome you and make you as much comfortable as possible. He will be with you in ten minutes..."

"He _dared_ to send an assistant?" The mysterious stranger suddenly appeared standing right in front of him, towering over Harry with his mighty height, and bent down a little to look into his face.

Barely holding back a cry of horror that was threatening to escape his lips, Harry stared, breathless and frozen, into the scariest, ugliest face he had ever seen in his life. It was deformed and mutilated, scarred so horribly he felt sick to the stomach. As a torn cloth the pieces of unhealthily white skin hang down on the high cheekbones, showing the bone through. Instead of a nose there were only slits of nostrils now. In the left cheek gaped a big, burnt maw - Harry could see the white, sharp teeth, gleaming inside it.

"Like what you see, boy?" the ugly man gritted hoarsely through his tightly pursed, cracked and blooded, thin lips. However, his dangerous attitude was somewhat smudged when he suddenly started swaying on his feet and his black eyes rolled back into the deep sockets - Harry barely managed to catch him in time and place his horribly thin, weightless body into the nearest armchair.

Forgetting about the disgust and terror, that he had just experienced from an unpleasant encounter, he hurried to pour a glass of water from a jar on the table and confidently reached out to hold the man's head to help him drink. But a bony, clawed hand stopped him, grabbing on his wrist and squeezing it rather painfully. "Drink some water, sir," Harry mumbled, wincing at the hurting, but stubbornly holding up the glass before the creature - he could _hardly_ call him a man after all. "_Please_, drink, you will feel better." He had never seen so much distrust and disdain in the other's eyes, even Snape's gaze wasn't that frightening and unbearable, but Harry couldn't for the life of him avert his eyes - he knew it would be impolite, more so, it would show how much disgusted he was with the display.

A weak, veined hand snatched the glass out of his hold and the strange creature gulped the water down, hurrying to drink it all, as if he was a traveler lost in the desert who was blessed by the gods to find a small puddle of life saving liquid. His lips quivered slightly and a long, surprisingly, forked tongue flickered between them to lick on the dry flesh. All the while the black eyes watched Harry intently, daring him to say or do something inappropriate.

"Do you feel better, sir?" Harry kneeled in front of him, just like his mother used to do when he was angry with her, thinking that it might help lessen the tension that was electrifying the air around them - he had never dealt with such _hostility_ before. It seemed the wizard, and he, no doubt, was a very powerful one, was so afraid of being hurt, that his fear had transformed into a thick shield and a sharp, lethal weapon - like a trapped beast he watched Harry, ready to jump at his throat and tear him to pieces. "Should I call for a doctor?"

"No." The black eyes narrowed suspiciously, calculatingly.

"Alright." He tried to behave as unaffected as it was possible in such a company. He kept looking at the man, as if he was Malfoy, whose perfect, beautiful face Harry knew by heart, to its very last detail, he kept looking, _not staring_, and kept smiling slightly, almost imperceptibly. "May I check your pulse, sir?" he offered and very slowly moved his hand towards the clawed one, that was resting in the man's lap - its fingers jerked and curled protectively, but the wizard said nothing and Harry gently placed his palm on a very cold, though oddly soft skin of the other's wrist. He could barely feel the faint pulsing of the thin, dark vein. "It is very weak, sir, you'd better lie down," Harry looked up into the cold, hard eyes, feeling the shiver run down his spine under their heavy, piercing stare.

"Are you not repulsed by my appearance?" the creature suddenly asked in that rasp, hissing voice of his. Perhaps, it was only his imagination, but Harry thought that the wizard looked _surprised_, as much as his facial muscles could form such an expression.

There was no point in lying, he knew pity wouldn't be appreciated. "A little."

"_A little?_" the man wheezed mirthfully. "How nobly sincere of you, how very typical for a Potter..." he drawled, though his wrist was still in Harry's hold and he didn't try to move away. "Tell me, what is _a Potter_ doing in the house of one of the darkest wizards in England?" A spark of interest could be seen in the black eyes, which were reddened, Harry noticed, and had a strange blood like hue to their orbs.

"I work as Mr Malfoy's personal assistant. I don't really mind working for a dark wizard... May I ask if you knew any other Potters in the past?" he asked uncertainly, though very curious to hear the answer. It was impossible to tell the stranger's age, but he must have been at least around forty, like Lucius was.

"I did," the creature said quietly, leaning slightly forward to have a better look at Harry's face. "Can't say you have inherited any of their distinguishing features. I wonder if you have inherited any other... _useful traits_ of theirs," he drawled and his lips twisted in a repugnant smile, that only worsened the gash on his face. "They were unreliable and dull-witted, the lot of them."

"Oh," Harry sighed and carefully let go of the creature's wrist, dropping his hands down on his own knees. It was obvious the wizard didn't like his relatives, whom Harry never knew, since they all died during the magical wars, and there was no point asking him about them - he was definitely not going to tell him stories of his youth. "Sir, may I... I do not mean to pry or... Have you gotten into a magical accident?" Somehow Harry felt extremely awkward and uncomfortable asking the man about his horrible injures, but as the first impression of repulsiveness subsided, he found he wasn't really disgusted with the other's appearance but felt sorry for the poor wizard. He wished he could help him, could lessen his sufferings.

The stranger leaned even closer, searching Harry's face, as if he was expecting a biting, hurtful remark or a joke to be thrown at him any second. As the creature bent his head to look at him, a few strands of long, black, wavy hair fell onto Harry's cheek, tickling on his skin - the hair was so soft and shiny, it was hard to believe it hadn't been damaged along with the man's body. "Don't you know who_ I am_?" he asked and suddenly a cold hand cupped Harry's face, the long, clawed fingers marveling his skin, mapping its every inch, as if trying to absorb his warmth.

"No, sir," Harry breathed out, frightened.

"How _amusing_," the man stretched his mouth in an ugly parody of a grin. "Yes, it was an accident, a magical experiment that has gone wrong," he murmured, caressing Harry's jaw and lips, as a sculptor appreciating his work of art. Perplexed, embarrassed, Harry could only stare helplessly into the black eyes and breathe as slowly and imperceptibly as he could - the touch of the creature was cold, but not unpleasant and that was what confused him the most. The sudden _gentleness_ of the scary wizard made Harry sympathize with him even more. "Ha-a-ar-ry Pot-ter," the man drawled, seemingly rolling the words on his forked tongue, tasting them in his mouth, "How truly amusing... You may call me Mr Riddle, _Harry_."

"I am very sorry for what has happened to you, Mr Riddle..." Harry gasped, as another cold, clawed hand touched his hair and stroked it, carding the long fingers deeply through the thick locks. The sudden desire to close his eyes and nestle in the man's lap and sleep on his shoulder overwhelmed Harry and he dug his fingernails hard into his own thigh to prevent himself from giving in. Nobody had ever touched him in _such fashion_, nobody but Lily, but even her touch was never as appreciative and pleasant as Riddle's.

"The sorrow is not yours to be felt, child," Riddle hissed, smiling cruelly, but before he could add something else the door into the room opened and pale as death Lucius appeared at the threshold.

"My lo... _Mr Potter_?" he stared in astonishment at his assistant, who was standing on his knees before the most unwanted guest he could ever imagine.

"Sir!" Harry hastily stood up, snapping out of his mesmerized state under the other's soft hands. "Mr Riddle doesn't feel well, he has almost fainted and I offered him some water..."

"Yes, yes, you did well, Mr Potter," Lucius said absentmindedly, coming closer and involuntarily pulling Harry to stand behind him, "I didn't expect Mr... _Mr Riddle_ to come, but since he did we have a very personal matter to discuss. Please, Mr Potter, visit the kitchens and order a dinner for the evening, something... Something light." He barely managed to pull himself together and tried to look at Harry as confidently as it was possible.

"Of course," Harry bowed, watching Lucius in confusion. Was he afraid of Riddle? It looked like Malfoy was readying himself to be killed on the spot and the nervousness of the usually haughty and sarcastic wizard disturbed him greatly. "Get well, Mr Riddle," he smiled at the maimed wizard, who was watching him like a predator watches his prey, like a snake hunting a rabbit - a display Harry always felt sickened by whenever he caught it on one of the nature channels on the telly.

"Goodbye, _Harry_," the wizard hissed lowly, enjoying the sound of the name leaving his lips. Gulping in yet another shiver, that ran down his spine, Harry nodded his head awkwardly and practically stormed out of the room, hurrying to get away from the odd new acquaintance of his. He didn't know why, but he thought Riddle wasn't the man's real name but a charade for him, _for Harry_, to solve. The further he got into the web of the Dark world, the more twisted and strange his life became.

"My lord?!" Lucius instantly fell on his knees as soon as the door closed behind the boy. "Why have you come here? You can't use magic for traveling yet!" He didn't dare to look up, though fumed on the inside - he saw the way the Dark Lord _pawed_ Harry and it galled him. However, he knew there was nothing he could do about it and that galled him even worse.

"Silence!" the Dark Lord barked and fell back into the puffy pillows of the armchair, weak, exhausted and annoyed. "I didn't use my magic. I couldn't even call for you through the Mark... My recovery demands much more resources than I have previously anticipated. An elf brought me here. Now, give me your blood!" he snarled and raised his shaking hand, gesturing for his servant to stand up and do as he was ordered.

"You shouldn't exhaust yourself so much, master," Lucius muttered, as he rose and rolled up the sleeve of his black shirt. "You should have sent an elf for me instead of traveling all the way here. What if you have actually fainted?" He summoned the golden box from his study and took a tourniquet, two needles and a medical tube out of it.

"I see now why you are so _averse_ to my presence in your house, Lucius," the Dark Lord laughed coldly, as he too rolled up the sleeve of his thick robe, uncovering white, marred skin of his bony arm, "With lovely _Harry_ as your assistant you must be very careful around others. He is a tempting _trophy_."

"_Har_... Mr Potter has _nothing_ to do with this, my lord, I am worried for your well being," he said firmly and tied the tourniquet around his upper arm, pushed one of the needles into his vein, having have already connected it with the tube, and bent down to push the other one into his master's.

"I will never understand why do you so stubbornly keep trying to _fool_ me, Lucius," Voldemort shook his head in exasperation, taking off his hood and spreading his long, tangled raven hair over his shoulders. "I know you better than you know yourself, I know what you are like when you find yourself a new sex toy. How is the boy in bed? I bet he is most _delicious_," he drawled mockingly, watching in satisfaction how hard Lucius tried to keep his emotions in check. "How did you find him, anyway? Such a precious gem and a Potter! To think..."

"He found me, my lord, he came to an interview just like a hundred other young men. He was the most adequate and worthy candidate of all," Lucius grumbled, wincing at the pain of his blood being sucked out of him through the tube. "And before you say anything, my lord," he raised his finger at the sight of Voldemort opening the gash of his mouth to, no doubt, add more _poison_, "I don't know how he is in bed."

"My, but you surprise me, Lucius, such a _stamina_!" the Dark Lord chuckled, but his laughter soon morphed into a dry, rasp coughing, that made the blond wizard frown and wrinkle his nose at the particular nastiness of the sound. "Potter of all people... You know very well I don't care whom you fuck as long as it doesn't hurt me or the party. You also know that should another mistake like the last one of yours transpire - I will forget about how _valuable_ you are to me," he hissed venomously and gave Malfoy a warning glare.

"I know, my lord," Lucius bowed his head lowly. "I checked the boy thoroughly. He is clean. Though a half-blood, he bares one of the most powerful and ancient bloods, I couldn't let him slip my fingers... He is already very powerful, he is a talented duelist and a spellcrafter-"

Watching Lucius intently through the narrowed eyes, Voldemort interrupted him, raising his bald eyebrows in a mild surprise, "Are you planning to _recruit_ him?"

"I am seriously considering it, my lord. He is too innocent and too kindhearted, I am afraid, however, his talents are most valuable and he has a sharp, bright mind. He will become a great wizard in a few years and it is my wish to see him by your side, for I have no doubts that his father would try and sway him into Resistance sooner or later, or Dumbledore would try to lay his hands on him." The more Lucius spoke, the more agitated and passionate he became, "_I_ found him first, he is _ours_!"

"The child is light, what makes you think he would follow _me_?" Voldemort asked mirthfully, entertained by the other's excitement. It had been so long since he saw Lucius so alive and enthusiastic.

"I will take care of that," he smiled at the Dark Lord slyly and pulled the needles out of their veins.

"Bring the boy with you to the next meeting," Voldemort hissed, rubbing his hands together, massaging the numb fingers, helping the fresh blood circulate. "We will see about your progress."

That was it. With a sinking feeling in his gut Lucius bowed in submission, sighing inwardly. When the Dark Lord got interested in somebody it usually ended badly for the object of his curiosity. Cursing his bad luck he decided he had to quicken his pace with Harry, there wasn't much time left for them to enjoy what he had planned - his master was slowly but steadily recovering and it was only a matter of months before he became strong and healthy once again. The Dark Lord wasn't going to take Harry to his bed, but he was surely going to play _mind games_ with him, and that was going to end up in tears and blood, as it always did. Harry was one of the few people Lucius really _didn't want_ to see dead.


End file.
